


Not To Disappear

by lookingfortherainbow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anorexia, Anxiety, Art, Body Dysmorphia, Body Image, Depressed Zayn, Depression, Eating Disorders, First Kiss, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, No Smut, Painting, Recovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Shy Liam, Talent Shows, art class, mentions of past bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2019-11-17 20:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingfortherainbow/pseuds/lookingfortherainbow
Summary: He burrowed into Liam, wrapping his arm around the other boy and tucking his head into his chest, leg wrapping around Liam’s. Liam accepted him readily, immediately wrapping himself around him in return, nose and lips finding their home in Zayn’s greasy locks.“I’m so glad you tried with me.”Liam let out a breath, and Zayn felt the tremble in it, the awe.“Thank you. . .” Zayn breathed again, “for how you keep on trying with me,” he whispered into Liam’s warm chest.Or,Zayn doesn't eat, Liam knows what that feels like, and Niall just wants his best friend to come back to himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: This story is not a reflection of what I think the boys have struggled with or what I think their real lives are like. Zayn's parents are made up as is every other part of this story. I wrote this pretty much purely for myself.  
> Also, if you're struggling with an eating disorder, please know this may trigger you as the mindset that comes with anorexia and the effects of it is explored and written in full detail.  
> My goal is not to glorify illness, but rather to write a story of hope and healing.  
> If you have any concerns about the story you can message me on [tumblr](https://andtheywerebandmates.tumblr.com) or comment down below. 
> 
> Title is from the song New Ways by Daughter.
> 
> This story is unbetaed.

The air was frigid against Zayn’s bare skin, as he disrobed, skin tensing up into millions of little bumps, a silent act of protest against the unveiling of his body to the unforgiving air. It curled around his slight frame, hugging him with icy fingers. 

Clad only in a pair of boxer briefs, he stepped onto the scale, a new wave of goosebumps rising up to fight against the onslaught of cold that his bare feet were met with. 

It was a routine, one Zayn was used to. Still, he gritted his teeth as his body shivered, insides tensing along with his skin as he waited in uncertainty, watching his electronic scale calculate, watching the numbers go up. 

It was all worth it, the trembling and anxiety, because the numbers, once they stabilized, pointed him in the right direction. A compass of sorts. Beyond that, it was rewarding. Well, could be, if Zayn had done what he knew he was supposed to to gain his reward. Ironic that--losing to gain and gaining to lose.

When the scale settled on the correct numbers and blinked to indicate the final weight, Zayn’s body filled with warmth. The pride that flooded his body was molten lava, steadily warming him from the inside out. It was relief, reassurance, an affirmation. 

115 pounds. 

It was his goal from the beginning and he had reached it. 

_ I did well. _

_ I was strong. _

_ I am strong. _

_ I will continue to be strong.  _

_ I am in control.  _

_ I have to stay in control. _

_ I will stay in control. _

The words scrolled through his brain like the moving headlines at the bottom of a news channel. He was safe, in the clear, but only for as long as he stayed in control. Gripping the sides of his waist, he felt his body being encased by an invisible giant fist, some larger, more powerful part of himself, keeping him in place. 

The hand was squeezing and Zayn needed it to squeeze tighter. 

  
  


\---

  
  


When Zayn sat in his chair for art class that late morning, he didn’t feel like himself. He felt new, untouched, pure. He felt reborn. The sun shone through the classroom windows and Zayn put his hands onto his desk to feel its warmth, admiring the shadows and grooves it cast across his dry, cracked skin. 

He’d forgotten to put on lotion that morning. It was something he could’ve done instead of eating the microwaveable oatmeal he’d decided on having last minute before catching the bus to school. He made a mental note to learn from his mistake. 

One hundred and fifteen on his scale and on the first line of a new page in his notebook. Good, bad. A gain, a loss. 

His hands fidgeted with his pencil as he began to think about lunch, the tapping sound of it lost in the din of students pushing chairs in and out, bags unzipping and zipping, and the ever constant chatter. 

A pang of hunger clutched at his stomach and he welcomed it. It was a sign of strength, and he had found comfort in the discomfort of it. Nevertheless, the sound of the door closing and the conversations around him dying down was a welcome distraction from it. He looked up from his hands to see the teacher speaking to a boy he’d not seen in class before, the boy’s back to the class. Andi, his art teacher, pointed to the back row, her gaze fixed suspiciously on the empty seat next to Zayn. Zayn squirmed in his seat, panic settling in as he suspected he might be burdened with socializing with the new kid. After all, Andi had told him personally that he grasped art better than all of her other students and he had a special rapport with her. He only wished Andi would understand that art class was his escape, a class where he was allowed, encouraged even, to get lost in his head and not bother trying to dig up any useless facts from his brain to prove his worth and smarts in a place that continuously made him feel dumb and replaceable. She seemed like she’d understood this before, so why was she now putting Zayn in the difficult position of explaining things to this new kid?

Before the boy turned his head, Zayn looked back down, opening his notebook to write down his first intake of calories for the day. If he didn’t do it now it would nag him throughout the whole class, just as it had done in his earlier lessons. 

As he was finishing up writing the number and description of his breakfast, he saw out of the corner of his eye that the boy had taken the empty seat and began to place his art supplies onto his desk. Quickly, he closed his small notebook and stuffed it back into his bag, his eyes focusing on Andi at the front. 

“Alright, everyone, I hope you’ve all had a good morning. Today, we have a new student, who transferred from another school, joining us. His name’s Liam,” Andi explained, gesturing to the boy who had sat next to Zayn. 

He offered a small wave to the class, a soft smile on his plump pink lips. 

Now that Zayn had looked at him, well, he didn’t want to look away. He wasn’t keen on making eye contact with strange people, his shyness allowing him only a glance. But the boy, Liam, was lovely to look at and, he had to admit, it was nice to have company next to him where normally there was only an empty seat. 

“Liam, why don’t you stand up and tell us about yourself,” Andi said, mischief in her tone. 

Liam’s thick brows furrowed but he began standing, anyway. 

“I’m kidding. I wouldn’t really make you do that,” Andi laughed, the students joining in. 

Liam settled back into his chair, rubbing his shaved head. 

“You’re mean, Andi,” one of the students said, and Andi only chuckled.

“To catch you up with what we’ve been focusing on in class, I’ll tell you about the big assignment I’ve come up with for everyone.”

Andi launched into a quick summary of the assignment that had began at the beginning of January. The students were to draw or paint an abstract form of what the dark parts of their mind looked like to them, a collection of separate pictures that gave a visual representation of fear. The other part of the assignment was to do the same only with what gave them joy or inspired them. A ying yang of sorts. 

There would be plenty of time for Liam to catch up on the assignment seeing as it was only the beginning of March, though Zayn couldn’t imagine how unsettling it would feel to jump into a new school when the semester had already started. Curiosity filled him as he wondered what the reason for the sudden transfer was. 

“Like I said before, if you have any questions, feel free to ask Zayn. I’ll also be available if you need further help,” Andi finished, brushing her hot pink colored hair out of her eyes. She was a young teacher, cool enough to pull off the look. It suited her. “Everyone else, you know the routine. Find what you need from the supplies and get to creating!” 

The class slowly began to move to various parts of the room, opening cupboards and drawers, gathering pencils, paintbrushes, paints, sketch paper. 

Zayn stood from his seat, but immediately regretted the speed with which he did it, clutching the edge of his desk, blotches the color of the rainbow filling his vision, stars sliding through the colorful chaos to complete the terrible painting that left him without clear sight. 

“Zayn was it?” Liam asked from where he was still sitting in his seat. 

Blindly, Zayn turned to Liam, trying to make out the details of the boy through his spotted vision as he replied, “Yeah, that’s me.”

Taking the welcome opportunity to sit down as waves of pressure pulsed through his head, Zayn schooled his face into one of indifference, waiting for the dizziness and colors to fade away. 

“Well, I’m not really sure how to start on this project. I don’t know what Andi really means by abstract? Like, how abstract are we talking?”

When his vision normalized, he took a subtle breath of relief, taking time to study Liam’s features as he formulated his answer in his head. 

“It’s not like geometric shapes or anything. It’s kind of like you’re taking one piece from a whole picture and drawing it on it’s own so it becomes the main subject,” he tried explaining. “You’re the only one who knows what the big picture looks like, but you have to give enough clues in your abstract picture as to what you’re alluding to.”

Liam hummed, then stared down at his unopened sketchbook, a frown forming on his plush lips. Zayn licked his own dry ones, feeling the cracked surface graze his tongue. His hand shook as he reached it out, asking, “Mind if I look at what you normally draw?”

Liam blinked at him, warm brown eyes clouded with confusion as he handed over his sketchbook. “If you think that’ll help, sure.”

Zayn offered him a smile and was rewarded with getting one in return. The smooth fuschia color of his lips spread over his teeth, and Zayn’s mind blanked with how beautiful the sight was. He was overcome with a warmth he hadn’t felt for any guys for a long time, no one getting his attention at his high school. Liam had his now, though, and the fist in his mind squeezed Zayn’s stomach, acid leaking to infect his insides with anxiety, ruining the moment of peace. 

He looked away from twinkling brown eyes to set Liam’s pad on his own desk and started flipping through the pages, noting the precise style of drawing Liam possessed. It was clear he didn’t do abstract art a lot, if at all, but with the impressive amount of talent he had to create such detailed and perfectly shaded pictures, Zayn guessed Liam just needed to adjust a bit. 

“What do you think? Will I be able to do the assignment?” Liam worried aloud after Zayn had taken a few silent moments, deep voice unsure.  

Looking back to him, Zayn nodded. “These are impressive, bro.”

“Yeah? Thanks. I mean, really they’re just some sketches, but I try,” Liam breathed, smile coming in bashful, but a little more at ease now. 

Most of the drawings were of rooms or buildings with beautiful architecture. Zayn’s eyes swept over the careful attention to shading in each sketch, in awe of how much depth Liam was capable of including. He felt he could look up and be transported into whatever place the buildings resided in. 

“I could see them in a gallery for sure,” Zayn mumbled, still entranced, soaking in the feeling of freedom the drawings gave him. 

He looked up to see Liam staring at him with parted lips, eyes flitting down to where Zayn’s fingers were framing the sides of his pad.

“That’s a huge compliment,” Liam finally replied.

Zayn shrugged, closing the pad reluctantly and handing it back to Liam. 

“As for the project, of course you can do the assignment. Andi is cool with whatever people come up with.”

Liam nodded, placing his pad on his desk. 

Zayn wanted to say more, get the other boy to talk more, but he didn’t know where to start. Slowly, he stood, more cautious this time and left to get some paint and water. When he was filling up his water cup, he noticed one of the girls named Perrie explaining to Liam where everything was in all the cabinets and drawers. 

Liam’s eyes took in everything, the small smiles that pushed his soft cheeks up and crinkled his eyes he’d been directing at Zayn before, now were bestowed upon Perrie and Zayn felt his lips pull down subconsciously. 

Uncertainty settled in his bones, made him want to reach out and ask if Liam didn’t trust him enough to ask him where things were, if he thought Zayn to be inadequate at helping him. 

Perrie noticed him staring, sharp blue eyes piercing, eyebrow raising. Noticing where Perrie’s eyesight led to, Liam turned to look at Zayn. 

Before the encounter could turn awkward, Zayn left with his supplies, armed and ready to finish the picture he’d already started last class. 

Besides the few kids who needed reminding to focus on their work and not to only chat with their friends, though Andi allowed for murmured discussions, art class was relatively quiet and the lull of the instrumental music Andi put on while the students worked and she chatted with some about their works in progress put Zayn into a mental state where nothing else existed but him and his art. 

That focus was entirely thrown off today, and it was all thanks to the boy with the shaved head sitting next to him. 

Liam did a lot of sighing, a lot of drawing a line and then erasing. What was the worst was when he would lean over to grab something from his backpack that sat between his and Zayn’s desks and the subtle smell of his cologne wafted into Zayn’s nostrils with the movement. He smelled fresh, like rain. Not only that, but Zayn’s skin started to prickle with the realization that Liam, for whatever reason, liked to stare in his direction, whether at his painting or him, until Zayn shifted and Liam would avert his eyes back to his desk. 

It had been a half an hour of quiet work before Liam leaned over, startling Zayn from his stare-down with his painting. 

“Zayn? Is there any chance I could see your painting?”

Zayn looked over at him, straightening his hunched back a bit, something coming alive every time those brown eyes caught his. 

He hummed, looking down at the watercolor painting. Black smudges of paint tainting the crisp white sheet. 

“I don’t really like showing my art to anyone unless I have to,” Zayn murmured, trying to subtly shield his painting with his arm. 

Liam leaned back. “Oh, yeah, ‘course. No problem.”

Despite his reassuring words, Zayn detected the disappointment in his gaze. “You’ll get to see it at the end of the semester with the rest of the class.”

“‘Course,” Liam nodded, eyes serious before a grin tugged at his lips. “Unless I can work my magic and convince you to show me your top secret paintings before then.”

A small laugh slipped from Zayn’s lips and he thought he saw Liam perk up at the sound. 

“You’d be the first to succeed,” he said, turning back to his painting, still chuckling. 

“You mean I  _ will _ be,” teased Liam. 

Zayn simply dipped his brush back into the murky water in his cup, insides twisting with nerves and uncertainty. 

It felt strange to talk with someone. He’d gone so long without an easy conversation with one of his peers that the comfort he found in being in Liam’s presence and engaging in a conversation with him quickly turned to hesitation and anxiety. 

Before he could spiral into a depressing maze of thoughts, he continued painting, losing himself in the soothing sound of soft, wet strands swiping over dry paper, entranced with the way the watery black bloomed over the paper. The timbre of Liam’s hushed voice interrupted him, brought him back. 

“I would’ve asked you to help me before, but I figured I bothered you enough and Perrie offered to help me.”

Zayn looked at him, slightly shocked at the fact that he had picked up on his, well, jealousy, though he didn’t know if Liam had seen it as that. Maybe he wasn’t as good at keeping a stony face as he thought. Or maybe Liam was just that observant. 

“Yeah, she tends to do that,” the words slipped from his mouth, far more revealing than he intended. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Liam asked, cocking his head in curiosity.

He looked far too much like a cute puppy for his own good. 

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts and emotions, Zayn settled on a non-committal, “Sure.”

He could feel Liam’s quizzical stare burning into the side of his head, but he made no move to give further information. There was a weighted silence and Zayn braced himself for probing questions, but instead he sat back in his chair, the moment of suspense ending. It left Zayn feeling disappointed, which made him feel stupid. This guy wasn’t his friend. Why would he be interested in Zayn’s personal life?

Mentally, he scolded himself, agitation taking the place of the peace he had been experiencing. His fingers found their way under the necks of the two sweaters he was wearing, blunt nails biting into his skin as he prodded at his protruding collarbones. The sensation sent him both comfort and dissatisfaction, his mind telling him he should be able to feel more of the bone, less of his skin and whatever fat lie underneath. Shivering from the cold that spread from where his fingertips were touching his collarbones, he placed his brush back into his cup of water. It was lucky that Andi called out for them to clean up their supplies in preparation for the class to end, because his inspiration had been drained and he didn’t feel up to create anything anymore.

After the bell rang and everyone was excused, Zayn heard his name and turned to Liam who had an expectant expression on his face. 

Zayn quirked an eyebrow. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to ask if I could have your number. I’m still unsure about my project, and I figured you were the best one to ask if I had questions over the weekend,” Liam said.

Zayn’s gut clenched. He was about to reject him, but the shy, hopeful gaze in Liam’s eyes pulled him in and he found himself powerless. 

“Sure, bro,” he finally nodded. 

The grin he got in return was worth it. 

Before he left, Liam stopped him again with his words. “Promise I won’t keep you up all night, chatting about stupid things.”

Zayn chuckled, feeling caught off-guard that he actually wished he would. Liam’s presence was somewhat addictive, in how calming it was. He liked how the other boy slipped in confident jokes now and again, like his confidence shone through the shy layer that kept him from appearing too bold or overbearing. 

There was an uncomfortable silence, Zayn’s feet shifting in the direction of the classroom door where almost all the students had trickled through now. His bones ached for him to either sit down or get moving. Standing in place made his feet hurt and his knees turn weak. 

Still, he felt like he should say something, wanted to keep Liam around as long as possible. He knew it was wrong. Liam didn’t deserve his unreliability, one that had destroyed a years long friendship. 

“Well, I’m just gonna go,” Zayn mumbled, pointing unnecessarily towards the door. 

“Oh!” Liam seemed surprised at his own outburst, clearing his throat before much more calmly saying, “could I, um, could I sit with you? At-at lunch, I mean?”

No.  _ Absolutely no. _ Because Zayn had packed an apple and iced green tea. His seat was in the single bathroom that no one went into because of its location in the school. And he’d been through enough lunch periods where all that was said to him was ‘eat this’ and ‘that’s all you’re having?’ and ‘oh my god, these nuggets are so good’ and ‘have some of my food’. It resulted in food being pushed towards him that would eventually end up in his mouth no matter how much he needed to refuse. He’d been too weak to say no to his friends at the time, felt too guilty to lie on a regular basis and tell them he’d eaten a huge breakfast, he wasn’t hungry, he felt nauseous. That guilt, though, was nowhere near as devastating as the guilt that came after, the one that was attached to each and every calorie that kept him at a plateau with his weight loss. 

He’d been too nice, too weak to say no, then, and he’d paid for it. 

_ Now,  _ he was strong.  _ Now,  _ he’d learned his lesson. Saying yes to lunch was a trap, and it could lead to a spiral of practically inhaling food he didn’t need. One small bite turned into one small meal and that one small meal turned into huge portions of food that he felt powerless to stop from eating. 

No. Never. Not today. Not tomorrow. Never. No. 

“I need to use lunch period to finish homework, actually,” Zayn replied, wincing at the robotic tone of his voice. 

Once again, like before, he watched how Liam’s eyes sombered with the words. It took every fiber in his body not to go back on his decision, to change his words. 

“Sorry,” he added on, trying to soften the blow.

“That’s ok.” Liam’s smile returned, and it pained Zayn to notice how inauthentic it looked compared to the stunning ones he’d seen grace his face before. 

“I’ll. . .see you around, though,” Zayn said in farewell. 

He couldn’t bear to look at Liam much longer, so he walked away with a faux happy ‘yeah’ following him out the door. 

Sighing long and hard, he prepared himself for the lunch hour. It was going to be a hard rest of the day. 

  
  


\---

 

If there was one thing that Zayn hated more than school and lunch periods, it was sitting with his parents and their two friends, who were also a couple, Ben and Elizabeth.

He didn’t know why he was dragged to these things, maybe it was some weird form of punishment. Punishment for what, Zayn didn’t know, but having to go to some restaurant on Friday night with his parents and their friends wasn’t what he considered fun. They always told him that it was to get him out of the house, that they wanted him to feel included.

He didn’t want any part in their social get togethers, though, especially because going to restaurants gave him enough anxiety to get an ulcer, he was pretty sure. 

Currently, the waitress was taking their orders, and Zayn had ordered a salad. 

“You’re not getting anything else, sweetheart?” His mom asked, eyebrows scrunched with worry. 

Zayn shook his head, taking another sip of water. His was already half-empty, while the rest were almost all full. With one gulp, he could feel the icy liquid slide down his throat, cold spreading through his body. It made him feel bone-thin to immediately feel the temperature of his drink.

“You’re looking a bit scrawny there, Zayn,” Ben commented, eyes taking in Zayn’s body that was drowning in fuzzy layers. 

Even inside the temperature felt low. 

“Well, he hasn’t been eating much. Even turns down my home cooked meals that he used to be crazy about,” his mom returned. 

Ben shook his head, staring at Zayn with a disapproving glare. “If you went to the gym, you could build up some muscle.”

Ben Winston--personal fitness trainer and the bane of Zayn’s existence. No matter what, each dinner with Ben brought comments like this. 

Suppressing a huff, Zayn turned the glass of water in a circle, the condensation wetting his fingertips. 

“I do work out,” he replied, his voice not giving away any of the agitation he felt towards the man that was scrutinizing him. 

“Well, your problem then is probably that you don’t eat enough protein. See, first you have to bulk up with food and then you shave all of it off by doing intense work outs.”

_ My problem is  _ you, _ actually,  _ Zayn thought, now swirling his straw around, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. 

“Don’t they have a gym at your school? Or any sports you could try?”

The only sports that Zayn liked was boxing, but he’d had to give it up because lessons had gotten too expensive and his school didn’t have the classes or equipment for that. 

“He actually used to take boxing lessons, but they don’t have a class for that at his school,” his dad explained as if he’d read his mind. 

Zayn sat back against his chair, feeling as if they’d all turned a huge five thousand watt spotlight on him.

Ben started talking about some stupid client of his, and he wondered how Elizabeth could take this terrible man’s fitness and health jargon each day. 

With the focus off of him, though, and the food arriving shortly, Zayn’s mind wandered to the calorie content in his salad. It was bigger than he’d expected and he stared at it longer than was normal, that much he knew. 

The croutons sat on top, little squares of crunchy goodness, shredded cheese sprinkled on top with diced tomatoes standing out colorfully against the bed of greens beneath. It was just a garden salad, but his mouth watered, and he felt a pang of hunger that was becoming more painful and less comforting with each hour. 

The salad was beautiful, but it would make him ugly, and he knew it. 

He took out his phone, trying to search for at least the sixth time the calorie content of that specific restaurant’s garden salad. He’d downloaded three different weight loss and fitness apps and now he couldn’t remember his log-in and password to the most reliable one. 

Ben was still jabbering on about health while he stuffed his face with greasy bacon and potatoes. The sound of chewing from Ben and his mom, who he sat next to, was loud in his ears. There were so many people in the restaurant and the worst part was that he felt so exposed, the table they were sitting at, almost at the center of the large room. 

And then Ben’s attention was back on Zayn. 

“See, the problem with salads is that people think they’re healthy but dressing is so high in calories that it’s ridiculous. Not to mention all of the junk they put in it. If you leave off the dressing and the cheese you’ll be good to go.”

Zayn wanted to point out that he had no room to talk, and he had the urge to ask for five more cups of dressing, to dump them all onto his salad, and proceed to ask the waitress for a block of cheese to eat, just to piss Ben off. 

His dad laughed heartily, covering his mouth to keep his large spoonful of food from spilling out. 

“At least he’s eating a salad! I mean, look at you.”

Pointing his fork at him, Ben defended himself. “I ended up working out extra today. I’m allowed to have this.”

His dad laughed again and Ben joined in. Elizabeth and his mom shook their heads, small smiles on their faces.

Zayn supposed they thought hypocrisy and shaming people for what they ate was funny, endearing even. Well, Zayn didn’t have to pay anyone for shaming him for his diet. He had a skewed mental mindset that served him just fine. 

Amidst all of the scrutiny, Zayn had merely pushed his food around, managing to pour the dressing on despite the comments said about it. Despite his own knowledge of it being high in calories. 

With so much talk of food, and the frankly repulsive sight of his parents and their friends stuffing their faces, Zayn felt restless, felt the urge to escape, not wanting to listen another moment to the loud chewing, or see the mouths being open to shovel more food in. 

Excusing himself, he burst into the bathroom, locked himself into a stall, needing the walls to hide him from anyone else who entered. After relieving himself, he washed his hands. 

The low lighting of the bathroom cast shadows on his face, accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw, the hollowness of his cheeks under his cheekbones. Dark circles framed the bottom of his eyes, the color a purple-red. Sleep was hard to come by when you were starving. He looked huge in his sweaters and baggy jeans, but once he lifted his shirt, his progress was revealed to him. 

He didn’t want to lose the progress he made. After all, only today he’d reached his ultimate goal weight. He wasn’t about to mess that up. 

  
  


\---

  
  


It started with dinner. 

First, he’d eaten his salad. Second, his dad had shoved half of his huge portion of fries and poutine and kept telling Zayn to eat until the food was gone. Thirdly, they had ordered dessert, and Zayn had tried shoving his chocolate cake around on his plate, tried finding a way to shove it into his napkin before it made it to his mouth, but Ben fucking Winston was watching him like a hawk, every bit as annoying as that steady, persistent voice in his head that screamed at him day and night.

“Oh, he eats cake, too!” he’d exclaimed.   

After dinner, he only felt more ravenous. It was strange, but once he had a bite of food he only wanted more, more, more, as opposed to when he’d fast and there’d be hardly any desire to consume anything. 

He felt like the fat from the food was clogging his pores. He itched at his skin through his clothes, feeling like a layer of dirt had accumulated over the course of dinner. 

After dinner and arriving home, after his parents had gone to bed, and after fighting with himself for two hours, he ended up in the dark kitchen of his home, pulling out hot things, cold things, salty things, sweet things. 

He ate cheese, drank milk, ate the leftover pizza his mom had made, ate donuts, made himself a cheese and tomato sandwich with mayonnaise, drank hot chocolate, ate the leftover lasagna his mom had brought home from her work party and so many more of the foods that didn’t make it to his very exclusive selection of safe foods. 

The list of foods he consumed, Zayn felt, was endless. 

His brain had no limit when he was in this state, but his stomach did. 

Two hours later found Zayn curled up in his bed, clutching his stomach because he felt the lining of his gut might break, his skin might rip, and soon, his guts would be spilling all over his bed. Blood, guts, and fat everywhere. 

The feeling that came after his late night binges was the worst. Worse than when he was feeling fidgety from lack of food. He felt like all his innards left his body, like parts of himself, vital parts were floating out and away and he needed to scramble to catch them, put them back in order in himself before they left him forever. And there was the other feeling that all his organs were mixed up, in the wrong place, that Zayn had destroyed their ability to properly work. Not only that, but he felt so incredibly dirty. His hands picked at his skin, his face. He felt like he’d been dipped in oil and then rolled in grime. Taking a shower, scrubbing his skin raw--it’s what he needed but he was in too much pain to move.

Surely, he was not the same weight now as he was that very same morning.  _ He’d lost control. _

That large imaginary hand was squeezing around his gut so tight, fingernails spiked with poisonous guilt sinking into his skin.

He had taken two painkillers to relieve the pain a bit, knew he’d stretched his stomach so much that he’d hurt himself. He didn’t want to drink warm tea or hot lemon and vinegar water, no matter how much he knew it’d help how bloated he was. He didn’t want to step foot in the kitchen again. 

Absentmindedly, he scrubbed away the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. His phone buzzed on his bedside table and he groaned as he picked it up. 

It wasn’t what he’d expected, which was a text from his mom telling him she’d seen his light on and that he needed to go to bed already. Afterall, it was two in the morning, no one texted him at this hour. Or, really ever, for that matter, except for his parents. Bewildered, he stared at the screen as he read the name ‘Liam’ above the message bubble. 

Up until that morning in art class he felt his stomach could only ache from either hunger or bloating pangs. Right now, though, the bloating in his stomach was forgotten as a pleasant swoop of excitement went through his tummy. 

**_its been 2 hrs and im still brainstorming for my project :/ did it take u this long?_ **

Unexpectedly, a smile crept onto Zayn’s face. He wrote and erased a reply multiple times. Frustratedly, he wrote out something quickly and sent it before he could second guess himself again.

**Nah, I was able to start on it in class right away. You have the whole weekend to work on it, go to bed haha**

A read receipt showed up underneath Zayn’s message and he swore his heart tripled in speed as a grey bubble with dots popped up. Liam was typing back to him and Zayn hoped with all his heart it wasn’t a goodbye text. 

The whole scenario reminded him of his friendship with Niall, his best friend whom he’d known for years. They’d stay up late just like this, texting back and forth until the early hours of the morning. A lot of times, they’d hang out on the weekends, greeting each other with identical bags under their eyes that they’d earned from their early morning conversations. Zayn hadn’t meant to lose that, and he sorely missed his best friend who he still saw in the halls at school. But Niall had his own group to hang with, found better people to be with than the likes of anti-social Zayn. 

The excitement of having someone his age to talk to was both new and familiar, old memories of the countless sleepless nights spent laughing at Niall’s insane texts flooding his brain. Although, he never had that pleasant rush of energy surge through him when Niall texted him like he did when Liam just did. He chalked it up to not having anyone to talk to in so long.  

Liam’s reply came after a few seconds. 

**_but if i go to bed i wont b able to talk to u_ **

Heat rose to Zayn’s cheeks, and he squirmed under his blankets. This wasn’t flirting, couldn’t be. He was just overreacting. Besides, Liam probably was straight and Zayn was just getting ahead of himself. Still, he couldn’t help the ridiculous grin that spread over his face. 

**_sry i mean only if u wanna talk, u probably r going to bed_ **

It was all Zayn could do not to giggle. Liam’s worrisome addition was adorable, even with the horrendous spelling and lack of punctuation. In fact, even  _ that _ was endearing, and that was enough to let Zayn know that he was already far too attached than he should be. 

Ignoring the initial instinct to end the conversation immediately, he typed out a message and sent it before he could erase it and ignore Liam. 

**Thought you wanted to work on your project?**

Liam’s reply was instantaneous.

**_well im not making any progress anyway_ **

**_bsides our convo might inspire me :)_ **

Apparently, that one text was all the insane courage that Zayn had. Something dark was pulling him back, back into his shell where he belonged. 

**The best inspiration is sleep, in my opinion. I should be heading to bed actually, see you on Monday.**

Liam’s reply took longer this time, enough time for the guilt and regret to seep into Zayn’s bones, sadness pulling the previously upturned corners of his mouth down. 

**_ur probably right. sleep well Zayn x_ **

Zayn fell asleep with his bedside light on, phone still open because he couldn’t bear to let the screen turn black on the little ‘x’ that was stupidly churning his stomach inside out. 


	2. Chapter 2

When Zayn walked into art class on Monday, he kept his head down, and hoodie up, wishing that he could wear a mask that could conceal his face. 

Andi told them to take a break from their final project and instead work on drawing or painting a face using geometric shapes only. She went on for awhile, talking about the history of abstract art and cubism. Zayn heard none of it, his mind on the image of his face in the mirror this morning, the horrific sight of his bloated stomach. 

Carelessly, Zayn had started on his picture, not having the energy to be a perfectionist like he usually was with all of his work. The unsubtle glances from Liam continued, making Zayn pull his hoodie tighter around his head as he leaned closer to his work. 

“I like the eyes,” Zayn heard from next to him. 

He looked down at the triangle eyes on his square-shaped face. His finger moved sluggishly to draw a small circle inside each of them, giving a hum back as an answer. He didn’t like anything about his drawing. It looked sloppy.

Truthfully, he was curious about Liam’s own drawing, but even moving an inch from his current position felt dangerous. So, he stayed locked in his hunched position, afraid if he moved he would disrupt something. What it was, he didn’t know, but it felt as if that invisible hand was holding him in place, imprisoning him. Or maybe it was keeping him safe from moving and then triggering a bomb to go off, one that was invisible to him and everyone else.

An unexpected laugh came from Liam, causing Zayn to look at him before he could think better of it. Liam’s eyes were shining surprisingly bright in the yellow light of the classroom, his sketchbook turned towards Zayn. 

“It looks like an equals sign,” Liam giggled, referring to where he’d drawn two rectangles parallel to one another to make up the mouth.

Zayn’s own laughter slipped out of him. He turned his sketch towards Liam, pointing at the eyes. 

“Mine looks like a creepy clown.”

“Yeah, but it’s a  _ cool _ creepy clown. Just make sure that when you become a famous artist you don’t hang it up in a gallery. People might think you’re part of the illuminati.”

They both laughed even harder, quieting after Andi scolded them for their volume. 

“How do you know I want to be an artist?” Zayn asked after a moment, his mediocre work forgotten on his desk.

Liam shrugged, a secret smile tugging at his lips. “Lucky guess? I figured that someone as talented as you would pursue a career in it. You seem like the type.”

When Liam’s eyes wouldn’t stop shifting from feature to feature on Zayn’s face after a few moments, he felt himself recoil slightly. It was like Liam was stripping him bare, like he could see the last two nights of his weekend. How he couldn’t stop eating, how he’d stuffed himself with large portions of food after large portions of food, eating things that weren’t his safe foods, foods that he’d basically sworn off of. In fact, the other boy could probably see his weight gain as easily as Zayn could in the mirror. He was probably wondering how he managed to have so much fat on his face after only two days of not seeing each other. 

The thought made him begin to reach for his hoodie to bring it closer to his face, shield Liam from the shameful sight, the evidence of his binging underneath the skin on his face. But Liam’s hand softly wrapped around his arm in a reassuring touch before he could. 

  
“That was a compliment, by the way,” he said, eyes soft.

The warmth that bled from his hand through the material of Zayn’s hoodie spread through the rest of his limbs. Zayn missed it immensely when it slipped off, body leaning subconsciously towards the touch. 

He stammered for bit before getting out, “Well, you guessed right.”

He turned away before Liam could notice the heat rising to his cheeks.

  
  


\--

  
  


“I know I’m probably getting annoying, but I thought I’d give it one more shot and ask you if you wanted to eat lunch together?” Liam asked after everyone had put away their art supplies and the bell had rang.

Zayn fidgeted, his mouth opening to let out one of his many excuses--lies--that had become second nature to ward off people who might cause him to fail in staying under his set amount of calories for the day. 

The thing was, he didn’t feel like lying today. He didn’t  _ want _ to lie. Not to Liam. The boy was shifting from foot to foot, smile wobbling with nerves, almond-shaped eyes drawing Zayn in until his mouth formed a new word that he hadn’t uttered in response to such a situation in what felt like years. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Liam’s eyes grew wide before he composed himself. “Um, cool. That’s cool. Alright.” He nodded once, seemingly more to himself, then gave Zayn a wide, shy grin. 

It was weird walking with someone through the throngs of people in the hallways, weird to have someone’s arm brushing his because they were keeping him company, not on their way to go hang out with someone else. 

It was weird, but it was good. And if Zayn swung his arms a bit more to come in contact with Liam’s, if he tended to sway a bit closer to him at times, well. . .it was because there were others shoving into him. The way their fingers caught on one another a couple times was simply an effect of it. 

“Oh!” Liam said, eyes wide, once they’d sat down at an empty lunch table. Zayn was surprised they found one so quick. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot to ask if you wanted to stop at your locker to get your lunch.”

Zayn raised his hand from the table in protest, as if shielding himself from the worrisome words. “S’alright, I forgot it at home,” he said, dropping his hand. 

He became fixated on the paper bag Liam had pulled from his backpack, watching steadfastly as a turkey and lettuce sandwich, an apple, and a bag of Sun chips were revealed. 

_ Large Gala apple=116 calories _

_ Sandwich=500 calories approximately _

_ Garden salsa Sun chips=210 calories _

_ Total=826 calories approximately _

Zayn was doing the math before he could stop himself. The numbers swam in his brain in a disorienting pattern until he added them up, put them into order, and grouped them into a total. It seemed like so much to eat in one sitting, especially when Zayn felt like an absolute glutton if he ate that much in a day. 

Repulsion settled in quick, and he started rubbing his collarbones, grabbing at them, the thought that he’d eaten much more, so much more, more than he could count over the weekend making him feel like the biggest hypocrite. 

_ Not skinny enough, not skinny enough, not skinny enough.  _

His collarbones felt like they’d been coated in a new layer of fat since his binging period. 

“Zayn?” Zayn looked up into Liam’s questioning eyes from where he’d been staring at the food.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted to go and buy some lunch from the cafeteria? I’ll go with you,” he offered, sitting up in his seat.

“Oh, sorry. Um, I don’t have cash with me, actually,” Zayn replied, pinching the skin under his chin. 

Liam slouched, frowning. “Neither do I, or I’d buy you some.” He brightened as he started placing a napkin in front of Zayn. “But we can share mine.”

Zayn squirmed in his seat, watching powerlessly as the food came nearer to him, placed gently onto the napkins. Logically, he knew the lunch was healthy, balanced. But putting one bite of a chip in his mouth meant failure. It meant giving in, meant ending the fast he planned on doing for two days. 

As he sat and stared at the food, the noise of the cafeteria seemed to increase and the realization that it was just him and Liam sitting at one table felt like a punch to his stomach. He felt exposed, but he also felt like an asshole. An image of Liam sitting alone in the vast cafeteria last Friday made him frown. The idea of him being all alone in a sea of strange people after he’d had the courage to ask Zayn to join him, only to be rejected, was an absolutely gut wrenching one. 

He’d sat in this very same cafeteria with Niall before. Last year’s first semester and all the years before, to be exact. Niall’s friends, Louis and Harry, had always sat with them, but Zayn knew they were there only because Niall was. They weren’t Zayn’s friends, no matter how much Niall tried to make it seem that way to him. It wasn’t until the second semester of his sophomore year that he’d started to pull away, started to eat in the single secluded school bathroom.

“I’m really not hungry, Liam,” he protested, simultaneously wanting to shove the food away and pull it closer. 

“Not even a little bit? I know I can’t concentrate if I skip a meal, especially breakfast or lunch. It’s like fuel, you know? Gets me through the day so I don’t feel like a zombie,” Liam chattered, taking a bite of his half of the sandwich. 

That was exactly how Zayn felt now. But he was a sluggish zombie that was weighed down with all the food he’d consumed before. He didn’t need more. 

Liam was so very sweet, offering him his own lunch, concerned about someone he barely even knew. Zayn kind of wanted to kiss his adorable buzzed head. Or at least touch it with his hand. He was cute was all, and Zayn had never touched a fully buzzed head before. Normally, he didn’t think the hairstyle suited any guy. But Liam made it look good, handsome.

Someone from another table yelled as they spilled their drink, and Zayn watched as the kid’s friends laughed, chips spewing from his mouth everywhere. Suddenly, it was like he couldn’t look away from the chaos around him. Stomach churning, he watched in disgusted silence as teenagers all around him took bite after bite of food. Cupcakes, yogurt, chips, chicken nuggets, fries, sandwiches, leftover pizza. All of it was being chewed to a pulp between crooked teeth, straight teeth, teeth with braces on them, guzzled down with water, milk, or carbonated drinks. Their throats worked as they swallowed, letting the warm, soggy mush slide down onto all the other food in their stomachs that they’d consumed, letting it gather there like an open garbage bag that had been left out in the rain. 

And he had done the exact same thing, only worse, just a day ago. 

“If you don’t feel hungry, that’s ok, I just wanted to share in case you were,” he heard Liam say. He was still watching him, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

“I’m--I’ll--I feel sick,” Zayn blurted, stumbling from the table. 

He couldn’t get to his bathroom fast enough, slamming the old door shut and locking it. The next thing he knew, he was lifting up his shirt, turning his body sideways in the mirror, inspecting the damage he’d done to his body by binging. He’d already done a body check this morning, but it seemed any time there was a mirror in a bathroom, he’d go through the ritual of examining himself. It was time-consuming, caused his anxiety to sky-rocket, but it was like a drug, like something he was pushed to do by some invisible force.  

When totaled, he wondered how many minutes--hours, maybe days--he’d wasted staring into a mirror, how much of his life had ticked away, how much more time he would lose studying every ridge and roll on his body. 

The pound he’d gained over the weekend showed on his face, his cheekbones and jaw less defined than before. His ribs were less visible under his skin and worse of all his stomach protruded out. He’d probably stretched it. 

_ I did horribly. _

_ I was weak. _

_ I am weak. _

_ I will continue to be weak if I don’t stop.  _

_ I am out of control.  _

_ I have to get back control. _

_ I will then stay in control. _

The words were chanted by someone else’s voice in his head, a scary, robotic one that he hated, but knew he needed. A tear slid down his face as he clawed his nails over his stomach, angry red lines left in their wake.

_ Fat fuck, fat fuck, fat fuck. _

“Zayn?” 

Zayn’s head snapped in the direction of the door, quickly rubbing his eyes and cheeks, sniffling as he tried to compose himself. 

“Are you okay?” Liam’s soft voice came through the door. 

With a shaking hand, Zayn reached for the door handle, trying to steady his breathing. 

Slowly, he unlocked the door and let it creak open, revealing himself to the boy in front of him. 

He could only pray Liam couldn’t see any redness in his eyes, hoped he didn’t look like he’d just brought himself back from the edge of a breakdown. 

“I, um, I got worried about you, ‘cause you said you felt sick. Sorry, um, if I’m being annoying, that’s probably weird that I followed you. Um, I’ll--I’ll just--I’ll just go. Sorry about lunch,” Liam stammered, turning to go.

Before he could think better of it, Zayn reached out, fingers wrapping around Liam’s wrist, pulling him back and holding on like he was his life-line. 

“No. Don’t,” Zayn breathed.

“You want me to stay?” Liam’s eyes searched his, voice small. 

Zayn was hyper-aware of his tight grip on him, hyper-aware of the warm skin and faint pulse in the veins under the pads of his fingertips. The comfort of having someone there with him, reminding him he was real, that he could touch and hold on to someone as solid as Liam, was enough to bring him further out of the bathroom and closer in to Liam’s space.

“Yes, yeah. Please.” The words came out breathless, airy.

Liam’s eyes were wide, locked with Zayn’s. Zayn felt his heart was going to beat out of his chest. 

For once, he wasn’t afraid that the feeling was a sign of what would be his early death. It felt like being alive. 

“I want to spend lunch with you.”

“You do?” Liam asked. He seemed dazed, unsure if the situation he’d found himself in was real. Zayn could relate.

He nodded his head, and after a few beats, Liam was turning in the direction of the cafeteria, saying “okay”. Only, Zayn froze, his feet faltered, and his mind caught up with him. The voice was back to screaming at him. 

_ Fat fuck, stupid failure, inconvenience. _

Liam stopped, noticing the shift in his behavior, the hesitation in his steps. He frowned in thought for a moment, chewing on his plush bottom lip, before offering, “We could go to my house?” 

“Um,” was all Zayn could offer. 

Going to someone’s house brought on entirely different anxieties than sitting in a cafeteria, and Zayn felt unprepared, needed time to assess what he might be going into. He needed time to panic, really, but Liam was gazing at him with those eyes. 

“Hey, if you’re not comfortable skipping, I totally get it. It just seemed to me like maybe you needed a mental health day, you know?” 

Zayn felt pulled in so many different directions, felt like his limbs might come clean off. 

He needed to keep fasting. He needed to tell Liam to go away. He needed to lose all of the weight he’d gained.

But what he wanted was to go back and eat lunch in the cafeteria with Liam. He wanted to hang out with Liam. He wanted to skip class with Liam. He wanted to keep holding Liam’s wrist. 

His fingers twitched once before he let go of him, a final touch before he felt untethered to anything again. 

“I’m sorry, I’m probably reading the whole situation wrong. I’m really sorry for bothering you. That was a weird suggestion--going to my house,” Liam rambled, his one hand starting to rub at his neck.

“No, I want to skip,” Zayn finally uttered. 

And Liam’s gaze was on him, steadfast, anchoring him in the moment. He felt he might do anything just to have Liam’s eyes on him.

Liam still looked unconvinced, a small frown on his brow as he studied Zayn, trying to see into his mind. Still, he muttered another “okay”, and the two made their way down the hall. 

The Hand was squeezing Zayn tight, but the sight of Liam’s lips quirking up at him as they made their way down the empty hall helped him ignore it for the time being.

  
  


\--

  
  


“You can leave your bag wherever,” Liam said, dumping his own backpack on the floor of his bedroom. 

Liam had driven them in his car to an apartment complex that was fifteen minutes from the school. It was a small brick building, more wide than tall, and the interior of the apartment was compact but clean. 

Zayn dropped his backpack on the floor, eyes wide as he took in the walls that were mostly covered in Liam’s sketches. 

“Holy shit,” Zayn whispered in a daze. 

The sketches were just as breathtaking as the one that Liam had first shown to Zayn in class. Pencil lines carefully drawn over white or cream colored paper formed dozens of pictures of architecture and nature. Zayn stepped closer to the wall nearest him, eyes studying the attention to shading. The foreign looking gazebo stood out against a backdrop of more grand buildings that looked to be in varying stages of decay. 

“That was in Rome. The backdrop was the hardest to do. Decaying buildings look cool if you do them right but they’re a challenge what with all of the shading,” Liam explained, stepping to stand next to Zayn, studying the picture alongside him. He pointed to another drawing above it. “This I drew in France. It was a much prettier gazebo, in my opinion. Lots of greenery around it. Though obviously you can’t see that because I don’t color in my drawings.” 

When Zayn looked closer he could see that Liam had written the location of each drawing in the bottom right corner. He became overwhelmed by all the countries listed. 

Slowly, Zayn turned his head, mouth in the shape of an ‘o’. “You mean to tell me you were actually _ in  _ these places. Like you didn’t just think up an image or copy some picture on the internet?”

Liam chuckled, rubbing at the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, my dad used to be a pilot so I’d often get to go with him on trips, even if they were just a day or two. He also got to fly free so we got to choose some really cool spots to go to on family vacations.”

“That’s so sick.” Zayn moved to look at another group of drawings. 

 “It was. Unfortunately, the airline he worked for went bankrupt, and my dad made some bad decisions investment-wise, so we don’t get to travel any further than downtown, now.” 

Liam laughed but Zayn could hear the sadness in his self-deprecating joke. 

“Well, you made the most of it, and that’s what’s important, right?” Zayn tried, referring to the walls of pictures. He always felt inadequately equipped in moments where he had to comfort someone. 

The words brought a more genuine smile to Liam’s face, though, and he nodded his head in agreement. “Definitely. I have lots of great memories that I made with family in that time.”

Liam went on to explain that his sisters were a lot older than him and the vacations they took allowed him to see them more often in an environment with no distractions. Zayn loved how soft his eyes became when he talked of his family, loved the soothing timbre of his voice, even if he talked speedier than most. 

Somewhere along the way, they’d ended up laid out alongside each other on Liam’s bed, Zayn’s thirst for seeing more of Liam’s drawings both quenched and increased by the sketchbooks that he was letting him flip through. He felt unusually comfortable being there with Liam, being pleasantly overwhelmed by the fresh scent of his subtle cologne that he’d get a whiff of any time Liam would gesture while talking or lean in to see the picture that Zayn asked to know more about. 

In an instant, though, all of Zayn’s anxieties returned the moment that Liam started describing the amazing food each country he visited had to offer. Because, quite frankly, Zayn’s days were all geared toward distracting himself from the fact he was always hungry. Looking through Liam’s sketchpads had helped him forget about the dull scrape of hunger in his stomach, but now his mind could only focus on one thing. Food.

“Speaking of food, you hungry? I could make us something,” Liam suggested.

“No,” came Zayn’s automatic response, The Hand squeezing it out of him. “I just want to keep looking through this,” he explained. 

The more detailed a rejection of food was, the less questionable it seemed, Zayn had found. 

“You really like art, don’t you?”

Zayn hummed affirmatively. 

“Kind of a stupid question, I guess, considering we’re in an art class.”

Zayn looked up from staring at a drawing. “It’s not stupid,” he reassured. “Some kids take the class ‘cause they think it’s the easiest thing to do. But it’s not like that for me. My parents wish I would put my time and effort into something more ‘serious’,” he said, making quotations marks with his fingers, “since I’m a junior and they want me to look good on college applications, get some great career, make lots of money, blah, blah, blah. But it’s always been art for me. And being financially unstable is a drag, but I feel they want the bragging rights at dinner parties with my more upper class relatives more than they want me to be financially secure, like they say.”

“Wow, that’s tough. I can’t imagine not having my family’s support with my drawings or other interests,” Liam sympathized. 

“Yeah, I don’t talk about it much. Lectures always follow. Besides, saying you painted something sounds ridiculous when in competition with your cousin who just became manager of a store straight out of high school, and all your other cousins are going to fucking Ivy League schools, or some shit.”

“No offense, but I would hate to go to your dinner parties, regardless of there being free food.”

Zayn laughed, a bubble of joy traveling from deep in his belly to be released in the form of soundwaves. It was an odd feeling to miss your own laugh, one that wasn’t faked, but Zayn cherished the sound of it in his own ears, the feeling of it warming his dry throat. 

“You sound exactly like my friend--well, ex-friend, I should say. He adored food”

“Ex-friend, huh? Things end badly?”

“No. Well. I don’t know, really. I think he found more interesting friends, you know? I’m not exactly riveting,” Zayn snorted. 

Liam scoffed in return. “And who is this so-called ex-friend, may I ask? Because I’d like to tell him that whoever he has for friends now  _ definitely _ can’t be more interesting than the guy I’m currently hanging with.” 

Zayn’s laugh was a soft breath as Liam playfully shoved his shoulder into Zayn’s.

“Niall’s his name. He goes to our school, super popular. But he’s not some egotistical jerk. I think we just grew apart for whatever reason,” Zayn mumbled. 

Which was a half-truth, because while they  _ had _ grown apart, it wasn’t for some unknown reason. Zayn had sabotaged the friendship by letting it slowly die until Niall gave up trying to be his friend. 

He knew Niall was better off without him. His former best friend deserved to sit at his lunch table with all of his friends, like the social butterfly he was, and Zayn knew he was too nice to abandon Zayn even though that was what had needed to happen. Zayn was inferior to all of the other people Niall knew--a wallflower at best, a social recluse at worst. So, really, he had done everyone a favor by slowly removing himself from the picture.

“I think I’ve met him, actually. We have a few classes together. He seemed so nice, really outgoing. I couldn’t imagine him dropping you for some new friends,” Liam mused.

Zayn simply shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to talk about it further. 

Flipping over onto his back, he laid his hands on his stomach, subconsciously shifting them to press in-between the grooves of his rib cages. 

_ Not deep enough. Not protruding enough. _

From where Zayn was laying, Liam still laying on his stomach beside him, propped on his elbows, he could study the small birthmark on Liam’s stretched neck. Glancing up, he saw Liam smiling down at him. 

“What?” Zayn asked, crooking his head sideways.

“Nothing,” Liam insisted, looking down. He pulled the fabric of the quilt up to fidget with it, rubbing it back and forth. “It’s just. . .you’re very, um, very different than what I thought you were going to be like.”

Curious, Zayn frowned, shifting over so that his side was flush with Liam’s. “Should I be flattered?” 

“Yes! Yeah, yes, of course,” Liam jumped in, nervous breathy laughter falling from his lips. “It’s just that. . .your beauty is very intimidating. . .at first.”

Zayn cocked an eyebrow. The more sardonic side of him wanted to say ‘it better be, I’m literally starving for it’. Then, Liam started muttering an apology, words jumbled as he tried to excuse himself for something that Zayn knew sounded definitely  _ not _ platonic. Especially when said while lying next to each other on his bed. 

Leaning up on his elbow, the front of his torso pressing into Liam in the process, he said, “And your sweetness is overwhelming.”

Liam’s stuttering came to a sudden halt, wide eyes on Zayn, tongue swiping over his lips, leaving them spit slick and slack.

Zayn fell onto his back again, eyes trained on Liam.

“Bet your old school is jealous we get to have you all to ourselves.” Zayn grinned, gaze drifting to the strong column of his neck again, and over to the spot that sported the darker colored area of skin.

Liam let out a strained laugh, and Zayn’s stomach and smile dropped when he realized he’d hit a nerve.

“They’re probably glad I’m gone, actually,” Liam admitted, fidgeting.

“Oh. I thought you would’ve been one of those guys that all the girls wanna date and all the guys are secretly jealous of,” Zayn said, trying to lighten the mood by keeping his voice gentle. 

Only, Liam’s small pout turned into a deep frown, and he still wouldn’t look up and meet Zayn’s eyes.

“That definitely wasn’t the case,” Liam said so quietly that Zayn strained to hear it.

Moments passed in which Zayn counted the number of breaths Liam took, could hear each unsteady inhale and exhale. There was something intimate about listening to someone else’s breathing pattern, hear them fill their bodies with the utter most important thing that provided them the ability to live. Breathing--the most basic necessity of a body. 

Zayn struggled with even  _ that _ some days. Simply standing had become quite the exhausting and rigorous task, left him breathless even on his binge days. A lot of the time, he figured, why move from his bed or couch when all it did was cause him blurred vision, dizziness, and stole his oxygen supply. He hardly left his bed on weekends. 

Gingerly, Zayn placed a hand over his, noticed how Liam’s fingers were thicker than his, but Zayn’s own were longer. 

“I’m sorry,” Zayn trailed off, cringing at the fact he didn’t know of what else to say.

“No, Zayn, no,” Liam said, finally meeting his eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

Liam gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and turned his hand over to give Zayn’s a squeeze. 

“Besides,” Liam murmured, voice uneven, “even if girls would’ve been into me, they wouldn't have had a chance.”

“Why?” 

“‘Cause. . .girls aren’t really my. . .type,” Liam answered, the words drawn out and timid.

Zayn squinted up at him, trying to figure out what he was saying. After a few seconds it dawned on him what he meant. 

“I see,” Zayn grinned, looking down at his hand that wasn’t being held by Liam’s anymore but was pressed against it. He tapped the center of Liam’s still up-turned palm, thinking for a moment about his next words, whether he wanted to take a risk. “Same here.”

The expectant look on Liam’s face turned to one of surprise before he schooled it into a neutral expression and Zayn’s heart sped up, feeling giddy and bold. 

“Cool, that’s--that’s cool,” Liam said, ducking his head down.

Zayn could see the corners of his mouth twitching upwards and he felt exhilarated knowing he had met someone like him, that he wasn’t alone, that such a kind, interesting guy who also happened to be gay wanted to befriend him. 

It felt too good to be true. 

The next few hours were spent sifting through Liam’s massive collection of comic books, discussing the characters, and debating on who were the best villains and superheroes. Liam had warmed up some leftovers in the microwave for himself and Zayn succeeded in refusing the offer to do the same for him. 

Fasting was harder after a binge. It was like his body had gotten used to food being dumped into his stomach and it was much harder to resist the temptation to _keep eating,_ especially in the morning. On days when Zayn was doing a fast after restricting successfully for awhile, they were surprisingly easy. The hatred for what food did to his body seemed to increase the longer he went without food, and the idea alone of eating just a single piece of food disgusted him so much that it didn’t take him longer than a few seconds to resist it. He felt he’d become the biggest failure if he gave in, like it would tattoo ‘loser’ onto his forehead. Even chewing a piece of gum felt like cheating. 

So, even with the scent of Liam’s homemade leftover meal wafting up to his nose, Zayn pushed onward with his fast, instead focusing, with some difficulty, on the discussion of which Batman movie was the best.

When Liam dropped Zayn off at his own apartment, he stopped him before he got out. 

“I hope you feel better and are able to eat something, Zayn,” he said. 

Zayn felt terrible about fibbing to Liam that he felt a bit nauseous before.

“I am feeling a bit better now. Don’t worry,” he replied. 

Liam’s brows didn’t unfurrow completely, though, even as he said a final goodbye and the way he was looking at Zayn before he got out of the car and walked to his apartment was the first time Zayn felt weirdly unsettled around the other boy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments, criticisms are appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

“What’re you looking for, Liam? I can help you find it.”

Zayn looked up from where he was crouching near Liam, the both of them rummaging through a bin of acrylic paints to find the right shade of purple Liam wanted.  

It had been a few weeks since Zayn had gone to Liam’s house and since Andi had begun teaching them about cubism. Their instruction was to copy the _Portrait of Pablo Picasso_ by Juan Gris, and they were finishing up the last segment of the painting this week. Andi had allowed them to use their own choice of colors, and Liam was having a tough time finding the color he’d been using the past few weeks when Zayn had gotten to class.

Since the beginning of Liam’s arrival, Perrie had been inserting herself into their conversations, constantly trying to offer help to Liam, all the while giving side-eyes to Zayn. Liam had kindly dismissed her, most of the time because Zayn was helping him or simply because Liam had no interest in befriending her, seemed to want to keep his attention on Zayn or whatever the class was working on. 

Before he could listen to Liam turn Perrie down in the nicest way possible again, Zayn opened his mouth, anger driving his tongue to form words he knew he shouldn’t speak. 

“I’m actually helping him, Perrie. And we just found what we were looking for.”

His tone was brusque, and he watched as Perrie’s eyebrows lifted. Immediately, he wished he could take the words back. 

“Yeah? Well, I wasn’t talking to you, Zayn. I was asking Liam,” Perrie retorted. “Because if you hadn’t noticed, not everything is about you,” she added under her breath, crossing her arms. 

Zayn stood up as did Liam, and he felt immediate regret for saying anything to Perrie when he saw the furrow in Liam’s brow, the shaky hand rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“We’re--I’m, um, I’m good. Zayn helped me,” he piped up.

Abruptly, he ended the conversation, grabbing Zayn’s hand and leading them back to their desks, which were large enough to be tables since the surface had to accommodate all the art supplies. 

Setting the bottle of paint down on his table, he huffed a sigh and dropped Zayn’s hand like it had burned him. Zayn still felt the warmth of it on his skin, a pleasurable heat that he immediately missed.  

“Sorry,” he whispered, sitting down quickly at the table, eyes darting from classmate to classmate as everyone found their way back to their seats from where they were gathering their own supplies. 

Zayn didn’t understand what caused the panic in Liam. He didn’t understand if Liam was apologizing for grabbing his hand, or for interrupting the weird conversation with Perrie. Seeing as Liam was setting up his supplies in a hurried manner, he didn’t ask for more information. Instead, Zayn lifted a trembling hand and gently placed it on his waist, successfully getting Liam to stop fussing over his set up and look over at him. 

“You okay?” He asked, softly.

Liam let out the breath he seemed to have been holding, and Zayn felt his ribcage expand and deflate underneath his palm. He gave Zayn a nod, and a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Zayn gave him a sympathetic smile back, thumb rubbing over the soft red material of his hoodie before removing his hand from off of him. 

Disappointed in his inability to know how to cheer him up, he sighed, setting up his own table and getting to work. 

  


\--

  


Three rice cakes, tuna mixed with a tablespoon of low-fat mayonnaise, and a piece of gum for fresh breath was what made up Zayn’s lunch, coming to a total of two hundred and thirty-five calories. Now that he was having lunch with Liam, he’d made it his first meal, being even more disciplined with himself in the morning when it came to resisting the urge to scarf down breakfast. Green tea and coffee and so much water he felt bloated and nauseous often helped curb the cravings for something warm and solid to put in his stomach, but nothing stopped the constant thoughts that always led him to thinking of food while he should’ve been focusing on his classes. 

As he stood in the lunch line with Liam, he clutched the paper bag in his hand, thankful the sounds of his stomach grumbling was lost in the din of the cafeteria. The scent of the hot food made him feel ravenous, but he knew better than to give in to the selfish desire to eat food so loaded with fat and calories. He only would have to wait a few minutes more until Liam was given the spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread that was being served that day. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to buy you something?” Liam asked, hands fidgeting as his eyes darted back and forth from Zayn’s eyes to the students standing behind and in front of them. 

Zayn lifted his bag with a wry smile. “I’ve got everything I need right here,” he reassured him.

“If you say so.” Liam nodded, cracking his knuckles.  

He was acting more tense today than usual. Zayn had noticed that he always seemed to get nervous in situations where people surrounded him, noticed the fear in his eyes when they walked through the throngs of people in the hallways, or when he had to get through the cluster of people around the cupboards when gathering art supplies at the beginning of art class. 

He felt that same fear shown in Liam’s eyes.

He felt he could do something to alleviate some of the boy’s stress, at least by talking to him about something to get his mind off of the people around them, but the words seemed to get stuck at the back of his throat whenever he tried. Or he would draw a blank, his mind as sluggish as the movement of his limbs. He worried what he had to say would bore Liam, so, too often, the two of them would spend their time in silence, studying together at Liam’s house or watching a tv show or movie. Sometimes, when they were sitting together, he’d hear Liam take a breath as if he was going to say something, and when Zayn looked at him, he’d be looking down at his hands or somewhere else. Zayn didn’t understand why Liam wanted to keep being around him, thought he’d have bored him to death by now. 

And yet, here he stood, accompanying the boy in the lunch line, and he was astounded that he’d succeeded in keeping him around.

“Zayn?” A voice broke through Zayn’s thoughts, and he startled, turning around. 

Harry and Louis, the two people that were now Niall’s closest friends, people Zayn only knew _because_ of Niall, were standing next to them, holding a stack of what looked like flyers. 

Harry greeted Liam, eyes shining and Zayn watched on in confusion as Liam greeted him back, obviously familiar with the boy. 

“We’re in some classes together,” Liam explained to Zayn, his voice going softer as he spoke to him. 

“Oh,” Zayn replied, dumbly. 

Louis was still staring at him, studying him. Zayn shifted awkwardly on his feet, a tense silence filling up the space between all four boys.

“What’ve you been up to?” Zayn asked, eyes darting from Louis to Harry, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Louis said, tilting his head slightly to the side. 

Zayn frowned, searching for malice in the words, but he only saw a strange sadness in the older boy’s eyes. He couldn’t decide whether it made him feel uncomfortable or not.

Harry saved him by getting his boyfriend’s attention, placing a hand on Louis’ arm, saying, “Lou, this is Liam. He’s the new guy in my classes I told you about. Liam, this is Louis, my boyfriend.”

Liam returned the greeting with a warm smile, and Zayn watched as his features brightened upon meeting Harry’s boyfriend who Zayn was sure Harry had mentioned to Liam more than a handful of times. With how touchy they were being it was clear their relationship was going just as strong as it was when Zayn was still friends with Niall. 

“So, _you’re_ the comic artist, huh? Harry, here, showed me the sketches you’ve made of him as different superheroes when class gets too boring. They’re amazing,” Louis said, eyes on Liam as he squeezed Harry’s waist. 

A pretty blush dusted Liam’s cheeks, and Zayn felt the awful, selfish desire to remove himself and Liam from the situation, wanted to say something clever, too, that would put that beautiful blush on Liam’s cheeks. He wished he had the quick wit that Louis possessed.

He was painfully aware of how his presence became insignificant, aware of how unaware people quickly became of him. He didn’t mesh with the other boys, not like Liam was doing now, and the thought that something must be wrong with him--his own existence--made him want to fade away, not be anywhere near any of them. It was an embarrassing thing to always exist but never to belong. 

“I normally don’t draw people, but it’s fun to doodle him as different characters. I think Zayn would draw you as a much more accurate looking superhero comic character than me.” 

Three pairs of eyes turned to Zayn, and he felt just as uncomfortable having all three of the guys pay attention to him as he did when they weren’t paying any. 

He attempted a smile at Liam, not knowing what to say to the compliment. Liam’s own grin was genuine, easy, if a bit dazed, and Zayn was happy to see the boy seemed relaxed for the first time that day. 

“Li, you haven’t even _seen_ my drawings,” Zayn countered. 

That rosy pink color was back on Liam’s cheeks and Zayn’s eyes widened with embarrassment as he became aware of the nickname he let slip. 

“I’ve seen some of what you work on in class when you let me. Besides, I don’t have to see them all up close and detailed to know you’re talented,” Liam added, chin tucked as he played with the hem of his shirt. 

“‘Cause that makes sense,” Louis muttered sarcastically under his breath. 

Upon hearing Louis’ words, Zayn felt pulled out of the bubble that had formed around him and Liam, turning his head abruptly to look at him. Expecting a taunting expression, he was pleasantly surprised by the wink Louis sent him, blue eyes twinkling as he subtly nodded towards Liam, eyebrows raised. 

Zayn frowned, confused as to what he was implying. His first thought, that he was being teased because Louis took Liam’s words as him flirting with Zayn, was far too much of a reach, and far too good to be true.

Liam was oblivious to the little exchange, and looked up once he’d snapped a loose thread off of his shirt’s hem, eyes shining with curiosity. 

“So, how do you guys know each other?” 

“They’re friends with Niall. We know each other through him,” Zayn answered. 

Understanding dawned on Liam’s face, and Zayn knew he was recalling what he’d revealed about how Niall had found better friends to hang out with than him. The other two boys, however, gave Zayn a weird look, almost identical in their expressions of confusion. 

Clearing his throat, Harry took two fliers from the stack Louis was holding, handing them to Zayn and Liam. 

“Yeah, um, speaking of Niall, he’s putting these up all over the school as we speak. It’s Louis’ senior year and he wants to go out with a bang. So, all three of us are putting on a talent show in the gym in May.”

“It’s gonna be sick! Since you’re both artistic, you should definitely do it. It would add a lot to the show,” Louis added.

Zayn studied the flyer, theatre masks and stage lights decorating the paper, the information, time, and place in bold black lettering printed onto the red colored paper. The sign-up sheet was on the school’s big bulletin board, open to all students.

“It sounds really fun. Thanks for letting us know. I’ll definitely consider it,” Liam said. 

Zayn felt three pairs of eyes on him, and he looked up to give a small ‘thanks’ to Louis and Harry.

“Sweet! Well, we’ll see you around, gotta keep distributing these,” Harry chirped. 

They’d been moving along in the line and Liam turned to receive his lunch. Zayn expected his former friends, or _acquaintances,_ more like, to move on already, but Louis hung behind as Harry moved ahead in the line to pass more fliers out. 

“Zayn, you’re our friend, too, you know,” Louis murmured, eyes questioning and concerned as they pierced Zayn’s. “You always have been. You’re welcome to hang with us anytime. We miss you, and lunch isn’t the same without you. I’m glad to see you’ve found Liam, though.”

Stunned, Zayn’s mouth twitched with the desire to reply, but his tongue felt weighed down, unable to form any words. 

“I hope we’ll see you at the talent show,” Louis carried on. “Your art deserves to be noticed, however you decide to showcase it.”

“Lou!” Harry called from further down the line. 

Louis gave Zayn a hopeful smile, patting his arm gently before hurrying off to his waiting boyfriend. 

Zayn stayed frozen in place until Liam turned away from the lunch lady and startled him from his trance, tray now loaded up with food, leading him to an empty lunch table.

When they finally sat down at a table, Liam visibly loosened up, his shoulders slumping and his chest rising and falling with a deep breath. His eyes, however, stayed fixed on the pasta in front of him, fingers twirling the fork in the noodles in more rotations than necessary. 

“You don’t like it?” Zayn asked, taking a bite from his rice cake, forcing himself to chew slowly, at least twenty times.

Liam’s eyes shot up to him, then landed on the dry rice cake in Zayn’s hand, only to fall back down to the steaming pile of food in front of him. 

It smelled like heaven. Zayn took another bite from his rice cake. 

“No, I do. It’s just. . .” Liam swallowed, dropping his fork and picking up a piece of the garlic bread. “It’s a lot of food.”

It _was_ a lot. At least, to Zayn. A portion that big would intimidate him if set in front of him. Unfortunately, he knew he was capable of devouring portions even larger than that. Not that he’d ever let anyone see that, or let them know he could. It would break the whole illusion that he was in control, respectable.

“I thought you were hungry, though?” Zayn asked. 

“I am, but. . .eating is,” Liam sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Eating is hard sometimes.”

That Zayn could relate to, far too well. To hear it coming from Liam, though, was odd. 

Liam’s eyes snapped up from where he’d been staring down at his food, previously glazed-over eyes now panicked and alert. 

“I mean--I’m tired. Feel more like sleeping than eating, you know? It takes a lot of energy to eat,” he finished, picking up his fork and taking a bite of his food. 

Zayn bet that it was warm, probably felt comforting to fill his mouth with something hot, the red sauce coating the noodles just right, meatballs juicy and the right combination of chewy and soft. And, god, the bread. It smelled so powerfully of garlic and melted butter, the surface of it golden and glistening. He couldn’t remember the last time he had bread slathered with butter like that. If he ever took the risk of having buttered toast, the butter was always measured into half of a tablespoon, which was half of a serving. Normally, he could hardly taste it. 

Finishing his first rice cake, he reminded himself it was cafeteria food, and it likely smelled much better than it tasted. He washed down the rice cake with a gulp of water from his bottle. 

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Zayn replied, still a little thrown by what Liam had said. 

Sighing, Liam took another bite before saying, “Anyways, if you don’t mind me asking, is there anything between you and Perrie? Or. . .was there? She got sort of rude with you today.”

“If you’re asking if we had anything romantic between us before, the answer is definitely no,” Zayn cleared up. “I’m openly gay here at school, have been since freshman year. She does have something against me, though.”

Sighing again, albeit more quietly, Liam’s clenched jaw loosened. “Why? For what reason?”

Zayn shrugged, opening the container that held his tuna. “We did a project together in AP English last year with two other people. My grades were better then so my teacher really liked me. I might’ve come off as a teacher’s pet, but I never intended to.  Anyway, I was especially anxious about the project because we had to present it in front of the class. I kept asking Perrie if I could change some parts of it that I’d done a few days before we had to present and turn it in, but she kept refusing to let me do anything. She’d locked the document we were all supposed to share and didn’t even let me see the final project, even when everyone else could. She claimed that since everyone else had wanted her in charge of the project I couldn’t act like I knew better than her, that just because I was Mr. Higgins’ _pet_ didn’t make me any better than her.”

Liam had stopped eating, intently listening to what he had to say, eyes always searching, searching, searching as he gazed into Zayn’s own. His thick brows had furrowed together further the more Zayn talked. 

“That’s--Zayn, that’s wrong on so many levels.”

Shrugging again, Zayn cast his eyes down to the smelly tuna, moving the mush around with his fork. “She’s always been competitive with me for some reason. Even in art. When I asked her if I could have the smallest part to present, due to my anxiety, she scoffed at me. Told me in front of everyone not to make excuses for being lazy. She ended up giving me one of the biggest parts to present out of everyone.”

Zayn had hated that day. In fact, he’d loathed the whole experience. Every time he’d gone to meet with his group for the project he felt like he left with his self-esteem more damaged than the last time. He’d never felt so unproductive and inept at something that he’d previously felt like he grasped with ease. He’d loved every aspect of English class, eager to learn everything he could. When Perrie had humiliated him repeatedly in front of their classmates, he’d lost the desire to participate ever since. His part of the presentation was rocky and his classmates seemed unable to follow what he was saying with all the stuttering and jumbling of words. Perrie had blamed him for the ‘B-’ they’d received, and Zayn would never forget how her eyes had bore into his with disdain. 

“Someone should’ve stood up for you!” Liam spat, anger evident in his voice and the way he was clutching his fork. “That’s sabotage, _bullying,_ Zayn.”

“No one cared. Just kind of followed whatever she said. I felt like I’d be a snitch or cowardly if I told Mr. Higgins, instead of working the problem out on my own. And if he found out and talked to Perrie, well, that’d only prove her point that I was being favored.”

 _Or babied,_ Zayn thought.

“You wouldn’t have been. There’s never any shame in asking for help. Ever,” Liam insisted, leaning forward, palms laid on the table, fingertips mere centimeters away from Zayn’s own. 

“I should’ve been able to handle it,” Zayn argued, voice subdued. “On the bright side, at least she can’t call me a teacher’s pet anymore. I’m practically failing the class now,” he joked, dryly.

Tilting his head, the grim line of Liam’s lips turned downwards, a more concerned frown forming on his face. His eyes flitted around, losing himself in thought, Zayn simply entranced by the movements. 

“What if,” he began, slowly, “I helped you stay on track with studying? And I could help you with studying for any tests or projects you have coming up since spring break is next week. I know most of the time when we hang out we don’t get much homework done, but now that I know it’s urgent you get your grades up I could be less of a distraction.”

Zayn wanted to laugh, scoff, even, at that statement. With his gentle eyes, strawberry pink lips, and soothing, rumbling voice, Liam could never make himself less distracting. Not even if he tried. It was a shame that the boy didn’t see himself that way, was unaware of the fact that even the sight of him reduced Zayn’s insides to quivering nerves of anticipation, the good kind that Zayn now welcomed whenever the sensation took over.  

Nonetheless, he pondered over it for a moment, before deciding that it was a good plan. 

“Alright. How about we study after school today? At my place,” he offered.

Briefly, Liam looked stunned, eyebrows raising the slightest and mouth opening into a small ‘o’ before his features settled into one of eagerness, the shy kind that never asked for too much. 

“That sounds great.” Liam nodded, looking down at his spaghetti again. 

Zayn pretended he didn’t catch the bashful glances Liam stole from under his eyelashes as he twirled his fork in his food again, what looked to be a barely contained giddy smile playing on his lips. 

Zayn never wanted to kiss anyone so bad like he did then. And he had never felt so skittish and out of sorts because of it. 

  


\--

  


Looking over to see Liam sitting at Zayn’s very own desk, in his very own bedroom, in his very own apartment, felt like winning the lottery. 

The last time someone his age, someone he was friends with, was in his home was the last time Niall had hung out with him, which was more than a few months ago. Zayn considered asking Liam to freeze in the chair he was swiveling back and forth in gently, in the cutest manner ever, so he could paint him. Of course, he wrote that idea off a moment later when he thought about how fucking creepy that request was.

 _“Zayn,”_ Liam exhaled exasperatedly, putting his pencil down.

Zayn blinked, looking up from where he’d been studying Liam’s birthmark. They had been studying for a good hour, and he wasn’t succeeding very well at the whole ‘ignore Liam, focus on not failing English’ goal for tonight’s study session. The goal was dumb in and of itself since Liam was the very one who was trying to help him not fail English, so he _had_ to pay attention to him. Ignoring him wouldn’t get him anywhere. Except paying attention wasn’t getting him anywhere, either, but in his feelings, so it was a lose-lose situation.

“Hm?” 

He knew Liam was trying to get his mind back on track, but now that his attention had been diverted from his birthmark and, he was staring at Liam’s face, the shape of his nose posed as another trap for Zayn’s brain to fall into, which it did, willingly so. 

Zayn knew Liam was saying something, could see his lips forming words, but studying the lines of Liam’s nose, the way it came down strong, possessing a soft, square quality, fascinated Zayn, his fingers twitching, once again, with the urge to draw the boy. 

He noted that he’d been so focused on Liam since the time they arrived home, he hadn’t even thought of eating or food. With that realization, though, his mind shifted, and now he was being screamed at by an inner voice that he was hungry, another voice joining, yelling at him to stay that way, that he could _think_ about eating, but never dare to actually do it. 

The slamming of a book jolted him out of his head, Liam taking the two steps to kneel on Zayn’s bed and wave a hand in front of his face. 

“Earth to Zayn,” he sing-songed, eyes crinkling at the corners, wonderfully. 

Zayn wanted to burrow under his blanket, could feel his cheeks grow warm with the teasing and the close proximity. He pressed himself further into the wall he was sitting back against, trying to see if he could shrink into it and the bed underneath him.

“Hi,” he murmured, flushing a deeper shade upon speaking stupidly.

“What are you thinking about so deeply?” Liam huffed a laugh, and the sweet breath washed over Zayn’s face.

Food. You. Food. You. Food. Food. Food. Always fucking food. 

Opening his mouth to answer, he was interrupted by a loud growl coming from his stomach, the dull scrape of emptiness in his gut he’d learned to ignore rearing its ugly head, demanding attention by sending a sharp surge of hunger through him, the sensation so severe it left him feeling queasy. 

“God, no wonder you can’t concentrate! You sound like you could eat a horse,” Liam observed, eyes widening at the noise, humor and concern battling for prominence in his tone.

A horse? He could eat a whole barnyard and then some. 

“You could’ve said something earlier, Zayn. You can’t study on an empty stomach.”

“I’m _fine,”_ Zayn insisted, finding his voice. Playfully pushing at Liam’s strong shoulders that were still holding him up as he kneeled, running his hands down Liam’s arms, sturdy underneath the cotton give of his hoodie. 

Liam gave him an incredulous look. “Babe, the noise your stomach just made clearly tells me otherwise.” He punctuated his point by gently poking Zayn’s stomach.

Once again, he was bowled over by Liam’s kindness, the caring nature that was a natural part of him, unfabricated, enough to make Zayn blink dumbly in wonder. Also, he’d called him _babe_ and he knew he wasn’t imagining that the distance between them had shrunk when the noisy exhale through Liam’s flaring nostrils tickled Zayn’s nose.

“I’m not hungry. I was thinking about how I wanted to paint you,” Zayn admitted. It wasn’t a lie. His fingers were tingling with the desire to hold a paintbrush and capture Liam’s soft beauty.

It was Liam’s turn to blush now, ducking his head momentarily as an embarrassed smile lit up his face, looking flattered. “Mmm. You still need food so you can have enough energy to do things like paint.”

In that moment, though, food wasn’t what Zayn wanted to taste, when he had the possibility to get a taste of Liam’s lips, a treat that was guilt-free, something that might make him feel sated instead of wanting to gorge himself sick. Something he could possibly truly find pleasure in, find satisfaction in.

For all his talk of them getting Zayn food, Liam didn’t move an inch, and his breathing was growing short. The earthy brown of his irises crumbled into the abyss of his pupils, the black swallowing the brown as his gaze swallowed Zayn whole along with it. 

With not even a centimeter between their waiting lips, the door swung open, and Liam fell over onto his side on the bed so fast he banged his head against the wall, Zayn jolting up from where he’d been slouched against the wall, happily having his space invaded by Liam’s hovering form.

His mother stood in the doorway, a grim line for a mouth, arms crossed disapprovingly over her chest. 

Shit. He hadn’t heard his mom come home from work, too distracted by having Liam so close they were seconds away from _kissing._  

“Well, no wonder you’re getting such bad grades,” came the cutting remark. 

“Mom, I swear, we weren’t doing anything. Liam came over to help me with English because he knows I’m struggling. We were--um--we were taking a break, but I promise--”

Mrs. Malik cut off Zayn’s stammering explanation by raising a hand. “I got a call from Mr. Higgins today. He said the same thing that your other teachers have called to talk to me about in the past couple months. You’re failing, Zayn. You’re an AP student, you’re taking AP classes, not regular ones, and that requires concentration, dedication. _Discipline._ I advise you to keep that in mind, as you have big tests and projects this week before you go on spring break. You seemed to have grasped that concept last year, and I don’t know why it seems to elude you this year, but I won’t stand for this. Unless you’re _actually_ studying schoolwork with. . . your friend, I suggest you do it alone, or you’re going to ruin your chances at making any good impressions on any good colleges. You and I both know no amount of art can save a college resume filled with bad grades.”

The loud lecture wasn’t something Zayn was unfamiliar with, but his heart was pounding in his chest as his mother scolded him, eyes not daring to glance at Liam who seemed to be trying to curl into himself. 

There was no way Liam would ever want to come back to his home ever again now, and Zayn had barely had any time to enjoy the novelty of having him over. 

“Yeah, I know,” Zayn answered hoarsely, mortification taking up too much room in his throat, his words coming out small, almost a whisper. 

“Good, then act like you do,” Mrs. Malik commanded, giving Liam a once-over, and then shooting Zayn a disappointed look before leaving, closing the door behind her.

If Zayn hated the noisy disruption his mom had caused, he loathed the deafening silence she left him and Liam in, once the door clicked shut, even more. 

Liam let out a shaky breath, limbs untangling to sit up from the awkward position he’d been frozen in.                    

“I think I should go,” Liam uttered, barely audible.

“Yeah,” Zayn agreed, the word overlapping Liam’s, eyes unmoving from where he was staring at the door. 

Zayn didn’t want to hear the rejection in Liam’s voice, didn’t want him to drag out his goodbye or leave him with a look of pity only for the comradery they’d formed to disintegrate into thin air the next time they would see each other at school, the proof of something stronger being built up watered down to a faint transparent memory, like a watercolor paint spread over a blank canvas with far too much liquid. 

In typical Liam fashion, he didn’t do what Zayn expected. Delicately, so as not to break the sour silence around them that he was single-handedly turning sweet, Liam wrapped his arms around Zayn, swaddling him in the soft red fabric of his hoodie and forming a protective shell around him with the sureness of his arms. 

Minutes passed, their breathing a soft lullaby. Zayn felt like sleeping. 

“Can’t believe your mom closed the door after she saw us like that. My mom would’ve had us leave the door wide open,” Liam’s voice broke through the quiet.

Zayn’s loud laughter was muffled in Liam’s shoulder, so overjoyed that his body was shaking with laughter and not sobs, that Liam’s departure tonight wasn’t a permanent exit from his life. After all, he reminded himself, Liam wasn’t like watercolor paint. He was like the lead and charcoal he preferred to draw with, stubborn once he left his mark, not easily erased, soft enough to coat someone’s existence with his presence, just like charcoal melted into the crevices in the lines of a fingertip.

Zayn wanted to know what it felt like to leave a fingerprint on the canvas of the world. 

After Liam left, with a promise that they could do another study session soon, Zayn disregarded his mom’s request, leaving his textbooks open to throw off the sheet he covered his easel with and paint. 

Sometimes, his paintings started off with a simple line, letting his mind come up with what he wanted to put on the canvas along the way. But tonight, he was starting where he’d left off on the painting he was doing for the art project his class was working on. Dipping his paintbrush into the gray color he’d mixed on his palette, he smoothed his brush over the textured surface of the canvas, his fingers that too often were shaky becoming steady, falling into something that was familiar and calming. The picture was halfway finished. 

It was scary to paint something that felt so exposing, but he knew that while art was all about vulnerability, it also offered something to hide behind. He could say whatever he wanted without it being explicit or blatant, could form pictures that suggested multiple things, could leave people with more than one answer to the question of what the picture was conveying. That was why he was painting the tips of a pitchfork piercing through an anatomical heart on a plate. He’d toyed with the idea of it being a fork, but that felt too daring. Their art project goal was to paint something that scared them, that made them fearful. Having his heart eaten away by his terrible eating habits was something that shook Zayn to the core some days. 

He knew what he was doing was slowly destroying his body, knew that if he continued on with his journey to shrinking into himself, in an attempt to be satisfied with what he saw in the mirror, he could have serious internal health problems, that his own heart could start gnawing away at itself, that his organs could shut down. 

But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to even entertain the idea of eating more, because the thought of gaining the weight he lost, and taking up more space than necessary, was just that unbearable. 

As he continued on with his painting, his mind wandered back to the embarrassing outburst that his mom had forced Liam to witness, all at Zayn’s cost. He’d wanted to disappear, didn’t want to be there, be seen by his mom. 

Because if he was gone, there’d be no mortifying moments to live through. His mother wouldn’t have him around to scold and lecture, and then ignore him when he tried to talk about his art, the things that he was most interested in. He wouldn’t be forced to live in the apartment where his dad sat in a chair and chewed obnoxiously on his food, as he worked away in their living room despite the workday being done, paying no mind to him. He would never have to step foot into his English class where he once felt cared for by his favorite teacher, only to now know he was someone the class and Mr. Higgins would rather never see again. He would never have to go to another family gathering where his cousins were vibrant, neon with the colors of their successes, looked at by his relatives and his own parents as if they were masterpieces painted by god himself, while he was the color of the gray he was putting onto his canvas, blending into nothingness. 

Zayn just figured if he was already invisible to everyone, why pretend he was anything but? Why not let The Hand crumble him into fine dust that would be blown away until he’d dissolved into thin air completely?


	4. Chapter 4

Disciplined. 

That’s what Zayn’s mom had told him to be with his schoolwork. Instead, he focused on being disciplined with his food intake to get lower than his goal weight that he’d managed to maintain. He couldn’t help himself. 

Everytime he looked in the mirror he couldn’t help but think how much smaller he should be, how much more fat there still was to lose. Imagining how much skinnier he could be if he pushed himself just a little more made him dissatisfied with how his body looked. 

Restricting was a bit like being addicted to a drug. Just like how users had to up their doses over time to feel the same rush, Zayn had to lower his goal weight, had to keep seeing the number go down on the scale to feel that bit of relief and euphoria he never could find in anything else.

That’s why he planned on spending art and lunch on his own out on the bleachers, after his English class ended. 

It was a Monday, and spring break had passed painfully slowly. The days were spent agonizing over missed homework he still hadn’t finished, staring at the grades on old assignments and tests that had dropped date by date, wondering how he’d ever be able to catch up on all the schoolwork he was behind on. He wanted to do well, and that’s why he was trying, just like how his mom told him to. Trying didn’t always lead to succeeding though, and that was the case with his schoolwork. 

Besides panicking over his past due homework, he wasted time obsessing over how many more days it would take to reach 110 pounds, how much more he’d have to exercise until he’d burned off the extra calories he’d consumed when he lost control. Keeping his weight under control was a lot easier when he was going to school. There was less time to think about food, less access to it. 

Spring break, or any holiday, wasn’t for bingeing on snacks and take-out, watching netflix, or hanging out with friends. No, spring break was for exercising so much his knees started to ache every night and bruises formed on his spine from all the sit-ups he did. It was for weighing himself every morning without fail and scolding himself any time he gained even a pound.

At the end of the week he was at 112 pounds. Still, losing  _ just _ three pounds felt like failure.   

When the bell rang, and Mr. Higgins dismissed everyone, Zayn was moving at the speed of a sloth. For him, it was unusual since, normally, he was out of the classroom as soon as possible, not wanting to linger and draw attention to himself. However, today his muscles ached from the hour long walks he’d been taking at night and his bones felt like they’d aged fifty years, fragile enough to break from supporting just his bodyweight. 

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he heard Mr. Higgins call him from the front of the room. Slowly, he made his way over, too tired to really get nervous about the fact his teacher needed to talk to him. 

“Yes?” 

Despite how tired Zayn felt, he wasn’t impervious to the concerned gaze his teacher looked him over with. 

“I just wanted to ask how you’re doing?”

Zayn lifted his eyebrows before schooling his features again. “I’m fine. And I promise I’m trying to get my grades up. I know how bad they’ve gotten.” His tone was apologetic. 

Mr. Higgins leaned forward, muscled arms resting on his desk, clasping his big hands. 

“While I have noticed your grades slipping that’s not what I’m really worried about.” He paused, sighing, looking down at his hands and then back up at Zayn again. “You don’t look well, Zayn. And I don’t mean that to insult you, I’m just truly worried about you. Your participation in class is almost nonexistent, when it seemed before you really enjoyed learning in my class. I guess I’d like to know if there’s anything that I can do better while teaching, or if there’s anything that you’re going through that I can help you with? Even if you just want a listening ear.” 

Zayn rocked back on his feet, sluggish thoughts trying to keep up with the emotions that Mr. Higgins’ words stirred in him. The Hand that squeezed around him tighter each day, loosened at hearing that he finally was noticeably skinny enough to worry people, leaving him with a feeling of victory. Then there was the warring part of his brain that scolded him for taking pleasure in worrying people, gaining sick satisfaction from having anyone comment about how bad he looked. He also didn’t like that the words meant his teacher had been keeping an eye on him. Trying to tuck into his hoodie further, he felt himself slouch slightly, while internally his chest was growing with pride. He was torn. 

“I’m not sick. I’m just  tired. I’ll do better at paying attention. Thanks for asking though,” Zayn dismissed him politely. 

Mr. Higgins’ eyebrows were raised, lifting his intertwined fingers to tap his thumbs at his lips thoughtfully, listening. Zayn didn’t deserve his kindness, knew secretly his teacher must hate him. 

“Alright, but know I’m always here to listen, Zayn. You being okay is far more important to me than grades.”

Nodding, Zayn thanked him before leaving the classroom that was now filling with the next classes’ students, stomach knotting with conflicting emotions he didn’t want to sort out. 

  
  


\---

  
  


The April wind was chilly, sun hiding behind the impenetrable dark clouds that were pregnant with rain. Wisconsin seemed to not have gotten the memo that spring was coming, though Zayn supposed it was only the beginning of the month, and it would take awhile for the weather to warm up. That didn’t help his body temperature though, which was dropping uncomfortably low the longer he sat out on the bleachers. 

Huddled against the wind that seeped through the microscopic holes in the thread that made up his clothes, Zayn checked the time on his phone again, sighing when he saw there were still ten minutes before lunch would be over, and he could safely make his way to class without seeing Liam. Speaking of which, the boy had sent multiple texts to Zayn over spring break, asking him if he wanted to study or hang out. They all went unanswered, and what felt like guilt in the form of a hundred pound stone laid heavily at the bottom of Zayn’s stomach. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he was doing the same thing he’d done to Niall--prioritizing his goal to lose more weight over someone he cared deeply for. Somehow, it was worse when it came to Liam, images of the boy not knowing who to sit with at lunch or being bugged by Perrie in Art (which he had ditched to sit in his bathroom and attempt to work on homework) flew through Zayn’s mind. Liam wasn’t stupid, wasn’t a poor, defenseless puppy, but where Niall had friends he was much better off being with than Zayn when Zayn had left him, Liam was still new to the school. Besides, it had become apparent that Liam shared the same anxious tendencies Zayn also had to fight with every day, which made it all the more difficult to thrust oneself into a new setting. 

He felt like a coward, selfish to the core.

Of course, he knew he was thinking far too much of himself. Liam certainly didn’t need him. But he didn’t want to dwell on that, didn’t want to think about the fact that Liam probably knew more people in the school than he let on, possibly could be with Zayn simply out of pity for him. 

“You plan on freezing to death out here, Z?” 

At first, Zayn thought he’d been hallucinating, his mind playing tricks on him after not having anything to eat and not getting nearly enough sleep lately. Upon looking up, though, his jaw dropped when he saw Niall, very much  _ not _ a figment of his imagination, marching swiftly towards him, cheeks and nose red from the cold, dyed blond hair tousled by the wind. 

Zayn didn’t reply, only watched as his former best friend drew closer until he sat down next to him. 

“You’ve got Liam worried sick looking for you. He found me and the boys in the cafeteria and said you were M.I.A during Art class, not to mention you refused to meet with him at all over break,” Niall said, the words sounding like an accusation. 

“I had homework to catch up on and Art seemed insignificant in comparison to finishing homework.”

Fidgeting with the fingerless gloves he was wearing, he refused to meet Niall’s eyes but was aware of how he cocked his head to the side and looked at him strangely.

He harrumphed. “That doesn’t sound like the Zayn I know. . .Or knew,” he tacked on. 

“Well, if you still  _ did _ know me you’d be aware that I’m failing most of my classes, and I can’t afford to prioritize art,” Zayn said, sadness slipping into his tone. 

“Yeah, I suppose I would know that--if you wanted me to. But you don’t, and you made that clear. While art might not be the most important thing to you anymore, I hope you at least put Liam at the top of your list of things that  _ are _ your priorities. Because it’s clear to me he’s done that with you. If you don’t want to do that, then don’t leave him in the dark about where you stand with him,” Niall replied, hurt evident in his tone.

Zayn wasn’t sure if he was talking about Liam anymore, the words sounding like they were coming from a personal place in his heart.  

It was the most the two had talked to each other since last semester, and the raw pain that was beginning to edge its way into Niall’s tone was making him uncomfortable, especially since he thought Niall had moved on fine without him. He thought Niall had simply categorized Zayn as a memory in his mind, not someone who was important enough in his life to leave that kind of hurt festering inside, significant enough of a wound to ruin his generally easy-going disposition. 

Zayn was rummaging through his mind, trying to find the right thing to say in reply, but he came up short and the wind blew around them, taking up the space between them that should’ve been filled by Zayn’s own words. 

_ Inadequate, stupid, worthless. _

With his sight still fixed steadfastly on his fingers, he began to wonder why his fingers looked so fat, rubbing at his knuckles only to be met with the feel of rigid bone underneath his skin. Why were his bones so big? 

“I want to,” he found himself saying. 

“You want to what?” Niall pushed. 

Finally, he met Niall’s gaze. “I  _ want _ to make him a priority,” Zayn pleaded, desperation bleeding from the words.

He felt like crying, like screaming. Because he knew he couldn't make Liam a priority. His own mind wouldn’t let him, and he couldn’t pull Niall into him, ask for forgiveness. He could only feel how distant they’d become, how much more distant they still  _ would _ become. He could feel himself slipping farther out of Niall’s reach, Liam’s reach, his  _ own _ reach, slipping into a crack that gave way to a black hole, and he had no voice to scream for help with.   

The blue gaze that had once offered him comfort so many times was now clouded like the sky above them, looking perturbed and offering no answer as to why. 

Zayn remembered a time when he used to be able to practically read Niall’s mind. 

Standing, Niall offered his hand. “Then let’s do that,” he suggested simply. 

Zayn took his hand, using it as a support to help him stand, not noticing how badly his fingers had been trembling from the cold until they were wrapped in Niall’s firm grip. The contact lasted no more than a second, Niall’s body heat leaving too soon to stop Zayn’s shivering.

His former friend had never felt so far away as he followed him down the bleacher steps and into the school.  

They walked in silence, entering the school through the heavy double doors on the back of the building. Zayn was following a little behind Niall, respecting the other boy’s space. After all, they weren’t friends anymore. 

“Are you participating in the talent show?” Niall asked, breaking the silence. 

“I don’t know. . .maybe,” Zayn replied, surprised at the question. 

“Louis and Harry said you and Liam both got the fliers. Seeing as it’s right up your alley, I thought you’d want to take part. Then again, maybe you don’t care about that stuff like you used to,” Niall mumbled, voice petering out at the end like he was thinking out loud. 

“Do you want me to? To participate, I mean?” Zayn asked, picking up his pace to walk alongside Niall, to get a better view of his face, searching for any sign that his former friend wanted him around. 

Niall slowed down until they both came to a stop. Zayn braced himself for whatever would come next, not knowing if he wanted to stick around to hear what Niall had to say, or if he could bear to hear that who he still thought of as his best friend didn’t care about him anymore. 

“Why would I ask if I didn’t want you to join? Your art is breathtaking. Whichever way you decide to showcase it would be a showstopper. I used to get so frustrated that you refused to freely show your art. You kept it so under wraps. Of course, it made me feel really special that I was one of the few who got to see your secret masterpieces, but I knew that it was too good to be kept hidden from everyone.” Niall was staring off into the distance, nostalgic smile on his face fading as he looked back at Zayn. 

He remembered how supportive Niall was whenever he was shown his art, going on about how Zayn should enter some competitions, compile his work into a portfolio to send to art schools despite what Zayn’s parents wanted. He had that rebellious streak that inspired Zayn to do what he loved. Zayn needed that now more than ever before. It had been lacking from his life for too long. 

“I’m thinking about it,” he finally decided on replying with. 

Nodding, Niall offered him a satisfied smile. “That’s all I can ask for.”

Zayn started walking in the direction of the cafeteria again, knowing that lunch would soon be over and the halls would be filled again. 

His voice pulled him back though, and Zayn looked back to see that he was still standing where they’d stopped. “Zayn?” Niall paused as he got Zayn’s attention. “Why were you sitting outside?”

His tone wasn’t accusatory, but the question made Zayn feel jittery, and his insides squirmed unpleasantly, like a mouse being squeezed too tightly in someone’s fist. 

_ Lie, lie, lie. _

He searched for one frantically, caught off guard by the bold question. 

“Needed to be alone.”

“Aren’t you tired of being alone?” Niall blurted, voice a small whisper, the question invasive enough to ring through Zayn’s ears like they’d been screamed instead. “You’re always welcome to sit with me and the guys. Liam is, too, you know.” 

Zayn fought with the urge to give in to his desire to be close to the boy he used to be attached at the hip to. It took all of his strength to not let the word ‘ok’ slip out, to not follow Niall into the cafeteria and slip into a seat at his table like he belonged, like he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. 

The internal battle rendered him silent, and he realized he was staring silently at Niall as the boy walked closer to him, eyes round and sincere as ever, boring into Zayn’s, the deep blue drowning him with somber emotions, choking him, stealing his air supply and ability to speak. 

As he looked down, seeming to gather his thoughts before returning his gaze to Zayn, he looked so forlorn, so small. 

“I hope you come to the talent show. And I hope you decide to perform,” Niall started, seeming to struggle internally with what he wanted to say next, his mouth opening and closing. “I miss. . .miss seeing your art,” Niall finished, something shifting in his eyes, his mouth sporting a hollow smile.

Something in Zayn wilted at that, and he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he let out a heavy, silent breath, body shrinking like a deflating balloon.

“Like I said, I’ll think about it,” Zayn repeated robotically. 

He felt so tired all of a sudden, tired of dragging around the conflicting voices in his head, like a draft horse who’d been pulling a cartful of loud, obnoxious people day in and day out. 

Turning away from Niall, he entered the noisy cafeteria. Liam immediately spotted him as his eyes had been trained on the door, leg bouncing a mile a minute. Upon seeing Zayn, he lurched forward, an aborted move to get up, hand curling into a fist and upper body straightening, stiff with anticipation. 

Zayn offered him a smile, feeling like shit for ignoring this wonderful boy who failed spectacularly at hiding how much he cared for Zayn. Zayn believed the opposite when others told him how much they cared about him, or rather when they used to. But Liam didn’t use words, didn’t tell him that he cared for him. He  _ showed _ it, sometimes involuntarily at that, which made Zayn believe that he truly was important to him all the more.

Still, Zayn couldn’t help but see how well Liam fit in with Louis, Harry, and the other few boys and girls who sat with Niall at lunch. He couldn’t help but think how he was holding Liam back from hanging out with an exciting group of people that Liam could fit in with easily. When Zayn had been with them, he knew he’d looked so very wrong, the opposite of how right Liam looked sitting there now. 

“He was outside on the bleachers, said he needed some time alone,” Niall explained for him. 

Pulling Zayn down to sit by him, Liam immediately tucked his own jacket around Zayn’s shoulders. He didn’t have to look in a mirror to know he looked ridiculous with two bulky jackets on, but the warmth combined with the heavenly smell of Liam encompassing him from all sides took away any desire to return the jacket. 

“You could’ve caught a cold! Your hands are trembling, babe,” Liam babbled, quietly, fussing over Zayn, large hands rubbing over Zayn’s frozen ones. 

When Liam dipped his head to blow hot air over his hands, proceeding to rub them between his own again, Zayn’s chest sparked with a warmth that spread throughout his limbs, turning his cheeks hot and lungs breathless. 

“Sorry, Li. I just needed to sort some things out in my head,” Zayn lied again.

If he was Pinocchio, his nose would’ve stretched across the ocean, all the way to England.

“It’s okay,” Liam said, hands clasped firmly over his own. 

The bell rang, signaling that lunch was over, and Zayn left to go to his next class, longing for another opportunity to speak with Niall, the void inside of him that had formed after their friendship dissolved feeling much larger as he left the cafeteria. 

  
  


\---

  
  


When Zayn had agreed to go with Liam to pick out his new puppy after school that day, he hadn’t given it much thought. He was too relieved that Liam didn’t hold a grudge against him for not replying to his texts and abandoning him at lunch to think about all that entailed going with him to the animal shelter. 

The car ride on the way there was difficult. When he offered Zayn some of the cheese sticks and peanut butter crackers he was munching on as he drove, Liam had been in the middle of talking excitedly about all the things he’d picked up for his new dog to feel comfortable in his home. Despite having three cups of caffeinated coffee that morning, Zayn was feeling weak, energy level so low he had a hard time giving any outward reaction to what Liam was saying. Any expressions he managed to make appear on his face felt like they were torn from his empty gut, leaving him feeling frail and used up. 

If the snacks had been apples and carrots, he would’ve had some, and gratefully. But he avoided cheese like the plague, so many calories and fat stuffed into small of amounts of it. And peanut butter was exactly the same. Only two tablespoons of it was about one hundred and ninety calories, thirty calories over what the packet of oatmeal he had for breakfast contained when he allowed himself to eat in the morning.  Besides, snacking was dangerous. Once Zayn had a bite, he felt powerless to stop himself from taking more. 

So, he’d told Liam he wasn’t hungry. He didn’t miss the frown that had formed on Liam’s face, but nothing further came from his reaction, so the conversation carried on.

Now, they were inside the shelter, and Zayn’s heart beat with sympathy and sadness at seeing such precious animals being kept in cages until they were adopted, because their previous owners didn’t take care of them the way they should’ve. 

“How could anyone care so little about their pet that they end up here?” Zayn thought aloud, his hand being sniffed up by a small mutt through the cage he was in. 

The dog was shaking, either in nerves or excitement, and Zayn tried to stroke his wet nose in a comforting gesture.

“It’s terrible. I wish I could take them all home with me. They all deserve a good home and someone that will love them unconditionally,” Liam sighed, crouching next to Zayn.

Liam was looking at him intently, their fingers brushing as they tried to pet the excited puppy through the barrier. Zayn gave him a sad smile, feeling his heart warm in his chest at the fact he was also affected by seeing the state these animals had been reduced to. 

They moved on, both of them subdued by the fact that so many animals were having to be housed in a shelter. 

At the end of the row, there was a small dog sitting dejectedly in the corner of his unit. He was black and white, his fur fluffy, and Zayn’s heart went out to him. 

“This one’s always been a bit shy. He’s wary of new people, but if you show him you’re no threat he’ll warm up to you in no time. His name is Carson,” the woman who was showing them around the shelter told them, as they both crouched down to coo at the dog. 

Liam spoke softly to him, voice like soft velvet. Hesitantly, the little dog looked up from where he’d been staring at the cushiony dog bed he was sitting on, forlorn round eyes gazing up at Liam. As he watched Carson shakily lift himself up to walk slowly to the kennel door, Liam’s soft voice encouraging him the whole way, something like pride filled Zayn’s chest.

If he was the reward waiting on the other side, Liam could probably coax any animal, or  _ anyone,  _ through a fire, and Zayn was certainly no exception. He couldn’t imagine that any creature on earth could resist Liam’s unintrusive charm. The same way he had taken up a large space in Zayn’s heart was the same way he’d win over Carson’s affection--little by little, cautiously, and without acting as if he was the reason for any of the good feelings he planted like flowers in the space he took up. 

Eventually, Carson reached Liam’s outstretched fingers, palm up in a non-threatening manner, and his wet nose twitched before he licked them. An adorable giggle slipped from Liam’s lips. In wonderment, Zayn watched as his face scrunched, and his shoulders bunched up around his neck. 

“I want this precious one,” Liam declared to the woman, glimmering eyes still on Carson.

The same words echoed in Zayn’s mind, but where Liam’s eyes were trained on the little dog, Zayn’s were glued to the boy next to him.

 

\---

  
  


Watching the puppy, who’s name had changed from Carson to Loki within the time it took for them to drive home, Liam insisting his original name was far too boring and serious, warm up to Liam while he was giving the dog a tour of his apartment was so endearing Zayn found the corners of his mouth to be lifted up into a grin the whole time. The small dog tried to shrink back into Liam’s torso while he was being carried through the apartment, not knowing what to make of being held so close to someone after being cooped up in a kennel for so long. The woman at the shelter had said that he’d been found on the street in a rural area and had been in the shelter for two weeks after he was found. Slowly but surely, though, with each soothing explanation Liam murmured into his soft ear of what each room was called and where his bowls, toys, and bed were, Loki started nuzzling more into his arms, accepting the love he’d surely been starving for for far too long. 

After the thorough tour, they decided to sit down and study in Liam’s room, giving Loki some space to explore with his petite black nose that never stopped twitching. Every now and again, he would creep close to Liam who was laid out on his stomach on the floor, Zayn sitting opposite him against the side of his bed. Each time, Liam continued quizzing Zayn on his English assignment so as not to alert the dog that he was being watched, since when Liam paid attention to him he would back away immediately. With every time he came back to Liam, he would come just a little closer, sniff, then scamper away to sniff the carpet some more.

Their studying went well for an hour, and Zayn found he was able to force himself to concentrate as he got a text from his mom, telling him that if he was slacking off she would take away a privilege of his. As always, Liam was patient when Zayn got distracted and, since they’d been studying hard, he suggested a break. 

“What do you think of joining that talent show?” Liam asked, shoving the heavy English textbook away from him.

Zayn had written off the idea of joining it, even though a part of him desperately wanted to showcase something. “Mm, probably won’t bother with it.”

Liam frowned, chin propped up on his hand as he absent-mindedly played with Zayn’s toes, wiggling them back and forth and smoothing his fingertips over the delicate arch of his foot. “Really? Even after hearing Louis praise your work? He seemed like he really wanted you to perform.”

Zayn shook his head, smile sad. “Well, of course one of the guys who’s putting on the show is going to make me feel it’s imperative I sign up for it. It’d be a flop if no one showed up to perform.”

Liam looked at him incredulously. “I may have only met Louis that day, but he certainly doesn’t seem like the type to butter up people who he thinks don’t deserve it.”

“That  _ is _ true about Louis, but I used to be acquaintances with him, and I was friends with Niall. He probably felt the need to say  _ something _ to me, you know, be polite, and decided to compliment me on my art. It doesn’t necessarily mean he really  _ meant _ it.”

“Anyone standing nearby could tell he was being genuine, Zayn. And not to sound nosy, even though I was being exactly that at the time, but I overheard what he told you about being your friend, too. Not just Niall’s friend. He certainly meant that, so why wouldn't he really mean it when he complimented your art?”

Zayn squirmed, feeling uncomfortable with having someone directly argue with his reasoning that had made him so isolated in the first place. It was strange to have that obnoxious voice in his head be challenged, unfamiliar to feel simple words tug and pull on The Hand, loosening the iron grip it had on him. It reminded him of Niall’s interest in whether he’d participate, of the high praise Louis gave him for his art.  

Still, he shook his head, not believing it, but also not having adequate words to counter Liam’s positive ones. The worst part of it all was that Zayn felt like his skill in painting and drawing was decreasing. How could he showcase something the people he used to know still remembered him to be good at, the one thing he used to be talented at, only for them to see that, just like his own existence, it was better off staying in the shadows, hidden under the sheets he threw over his easels. How could he put himself out there, just to have people realize he was even more of a disappointment than they originally thought?  

“Look,” Liam started, crawling over to sit next to Zayn, whole body turned towards him. “Regardless of whether Louis, or whoever, thinks it’s a good idea or not--which Louis definitely did, by the way--a talent show is fun because you prove to yourself that you’re capable of going up in front of a crowd to do one of the things most dear to your heart. It’s vulnerable and exposing, and it takes bravery to do it. You have that bravery, Zayn. And, for what it’s worth, I think you’d feel on top of the world if you proved it to yourself that you can do that.”

Zayn took in the inspired fire in Liam’s eyes, normally so serene and mellow--hypnotic--and a million questions filled his mind. How could it be that a boy he’d met only last month made him feel so understood? It was as if Liam had been studying Zayn’s every expression and decision, his body language and interactions with others, and most importantly, the brutal talks he had with himself in the mirror that no one, especially not Liam, knew about. 

He swallowed, gulping down the spit gathering at the back of his throat, only for it to get stuck in his throat. His voice was thick when he stated, “You’re always so kind to me, so supportive.”

Liam’s brows furrowed, neck recoiling a bit at the words. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, a lot of people don’t go wasting their breath on complimenting and reassuring someone if it’s not somehow for their own benefit.”

Liam began fidgeting with Zayn’s fingers that had been resting on his outstretched thigh. Zayn hoped he never stopped this new habit that he was developing.

Looking down to where he was playing with Zayn’s fingers, he rubbed the red lines of dried blood where Zayn’s skin had cracked from the cold and starvation like it was something to repair and care for and not disgusting to look at. He frowned further.

“I know what it’s like to not have any support, to have the opposite and feel like everyone hates you. I guess I’ve always thought it important, especially after going through what I did at my last school, to make sure if you have something kind to say to someone, you actually do. Sometimes, the smallest compliment can be the biggest deal to someone.”

From his slouched position on the floor, Zayn watched Liam’s face display emotions of pain, conviction, and determination, all of them intense. Looking up once again, though, his eyes softened as they met Zayn’s, and he looked vulnerable sitting next to him, facing him, open and unguarded. 

There was a silence as Zayn processed the words, letting their weight sink into him. 

“Is that why you moved schools at the time you did? Because people weren’t kind to you, because you were. . .” Zayn’s voice faded, not knowing how to word things sensitively, fearing he was stepping into territory he shouldn’t be.

“Because I was bullied,” Liam finished for him, nodding.

Zayn expected him to look reluctant to say the words, or to see Zayn put two and two together about his abrupt arrival at school. Instead, Liam exhaled shakily through his nose, slumping closer to Zayn as if a weight had been removed from his chest. His fingers stopped fidgeting with Zayn’s, and he inhaled as Liam’s palm slid onto his and engulfed his hands, gripping tightly onto him.

“I didn’t actually come straight from my other school. I was in a treatment center for two months, and when they decided to release me at the end of February, the workers, my parents, and I all agreed it’d be best for me not to return to my old school. They said if I returned to my old environment, returned to a place where I was bullied constantly, I’d--I would go back to. . .” Liam stuttered, falling silent. 

Squeezing his hand, Zayn shifted closer, closing his free hand over Liam’s, encasing him with both of his hands. Liam’s hand had started to sweat, or maybe it was Zayn’s, he didn’t know, but he liked the fact that he couldn’t tell, that they were pressed that tightly together. 

When Liam swallowed, Zayn watched his throat bob, lifted his eyes to see Liam’s tongue wet his lips. They opened and closed, shiny and wet, waiting to form words. 

“I would go back to starving myself.” The words came out in a rush, heavy with breath and uneven with nerves. 

With his heartbeat racing, Zayn’s fingers twitched around Liam’s. Trying to breathe or react was a struggle when he felt those familiar fingers of The Hand squeezing tighter and tighter, so tight Zayn felt his heart might burst from the pressure and his ribs might break. 

If Zayn understood correctly, Liam had gone to an eating disorder treatment facility, which meant that all this time, all those glances he kept getting from Liam, that made him feel weirdly exposed, were because Liam could probably see right through his facade. The excuses for not eating, the type of food he ate, the avoidance of social situations--Liam had seen through it all. 

He didn’t notice he was pulling his hand away until Liam gripped tighter onto it, and Zayn was stricken by the look of dejection that crossed his face, brief as it was, before he loosened his hold on Zayn. 

Instantly, he was disgusted with himself. Here Liam was, laying his soul bare to him, and all Zayn could think about was how much more careful he should’ve been with his behavior, how he shouldn’t have allowed himself to get so close to someone who could see through all of his lies and bullshit because Liam had  _ lived _ that life himself.

This moment wasn’t about Zayn or his fear of weight gain or his constant focus on food and the avoidance of it. This was about Liam needing him to listen. This was about Zayn being more than just the skinny guy he struggled to be every day. This was about being a friend, being the person he was before he let his life revolve around himself and his relationship with food. 

Liam needed  _ him _ \--not the facade he tried to keep up. The trouble was, Zayn didn’t know how or even if he  _ could _ separate the two anymore.  

Liam was the one who started pulling away this time. “I’m sorry--I--I shouldn’t have shared that with you. It was weird of me, I didn’t--didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I--” 

Quickly, Zayn let go of Liam’s hands to pull the boy into him, close the gap that had been growing, clumsy hand wrapping around the back of his neck, the scratch of his buzz cut against his fingertips soothed by the tender skin beneath it.  

“You’re the bravest person I know,” he whispered into his ear, their cheeks pressed together.

With his other arm wrapped around Liam’s waist, he felt the breath he released, splayed his fingers over the soft material of his shirt, wanting to press ever closer to the boy. 

“You don’t think I’m--you’re not, like, weirded out? By me? I mean--”

What possessed Zayn to shift his leg over Liam’s outstretched ones, he didn’t know. The move was not something Zayn would normally do. But with each unsure inch Liam’s hands made up his waist, as if he was testing to see if Zayn really wanted him to return the embrace, Zayn moved into him further. 

He wanted to eradicate any terrible words Liam had been subject to, any name-calling, any insults, any threats, wanted to bury himself into Liam so deep there wouldn’t be any room left except for the admiration and affection he had to give him. 

Once he was seated on Liam’s thighs, Liam’s arms wrapped fully around him and Zayn squeezed him tightly, goosebumps forming on the skin of his neck where Liam’s nose was just barely touching, the ghost of his breaths making him shiver.

After several moments, he sat back, still in their embrace. Running his nails through the stubby hairs on Liam’s head, he watched, rapt, as Liam’s lips parted on a silent exhalation, eyes half-lidded and staring at Zayn. 

“I used to have longer hair,” Liam began, voice slow, steadier than before. “It wasn’t always shaved like this. But I starved myself so bad my hair started falling out. It was brittle and dry and if I brushed it a certain way or looked carefully enough, I could see bald spots forming. It just--it looked really bad-- _ I _ looked really bad. Not to mention, I felt like shit. So, before I went into treatment, I shaved it off. All by myself.”

Zayn kept running his hand over his head before holding Liam’s cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth over his smooth skin. “Did you want to do it?”

Liam nodded. “It felt freeing.”

“Do you feel free now?” 

“I’m getting there. Everyday a little closer, even on the days where it’s a struggle to eat or not weigh myself or fall into my old habits,” Liam answered.

Hearing the optimistic words, Zayn could feel his heart breaking for the boy. He didn’t want to think about Liam being bullied in the halls of his old school, about feeling so terrible about himself that he deprived himself of food, about having kids gang up on him and having no one stand up for him. He was too lovely for that. He had a heart of gold, wouldn’t hurt a fly, and somehow all those kids had seen was a target for their degrading words. 

“I hate them,” Zayn said. 

Liam cocked his head in question. 

“I hate those kids who bullied you. God, Liam, how could anyone even think of being mean to you? You--fuck, you’re just--you’re one of the kindest people I know. Anyone who bullied you, or even stood by and watched, must be some of the most horrible people I’ve heard of existing.”

Liam gave him a sad smile, squeezed his waist gently. “I wish I could say I’ve forgiven them. I wish I could be a big enough person to do that, but after what they put me through every day at school for years, well, I don’t think I ever will. I. . .try not to think about them.”

“Even if you do think about them, that’s okay. You have every right to be furious and hurt.”

Liam shook his head, smile growing, the beauty of it causing Zayn’s heart to expand to make more room for his affectionate feelings. He didn’t know he could hold so many feelings for just one person. 

His large hand clasped over Zayn’s, and he looked down shyly before admitting, “I’d rather think about you.”

When Zayn didn’t reply, blinking owlishly at Liam, at a loss for words, Liam took his hand off his cheek. Those soft, pink lips that Zayn had spent far too much time studying pressed to the top of Zayn’s knuckles. They were plush and light like a cloud, and Zayn felt his breathing become shallow at the honeyed gaze Liam was giving him. 

Slowly, he moved forward again, relishing in the beauty of Liam’s serene expression changing to one of curiosity and wonder. 

He leaned his forehead against Liam’s cheek, eyelashes brushing against his skin, causing Liam to shiver under the whisper-soft touch. Zayn inhaled and exhaled, breathing in the scent of Liam, before pressing his own lips against his cheek for a lingering kiss. 

After he pulled back to look at Liam again, he noticed the rosiness of Liam’s cheeks. Pride swelled in him at the realization that he’d put that blush there. He didn’t know if kissing your friend on the cheek meant the friendship was shifting into something more. He didn’t want to ask Liam, though, didn’t want to complicate things when everything with Liam felt so natural. 

Still, he supposed the way they acted around one another was more than platonic. When he got close to Liam, when they touched, he couldn’t ignore the warm, glowing feeling that spread from his chest to the rest of his body.  

“Would you like to stay for dinner? And maybe a sleepover?” Liam asked, eyes glazed over. 

Just then, Loki came over and butted his nose into their hands that were still intertwined. 

“Can’t say no to that cute face, now, can you?” he teased.

Zayn looked at him pointedly, daring to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “No, I can’t,” he breathed over Liam’s lips, before pulling away. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Sighing frustratedly, Zayn turned over in bed for what felt like the hundredth time that night, his mind too alive with racing thoughts of how many calories he consumed over dinner, how much of a failure he was for not knowing how to push his food around and make it magically disappear into a napkin while Liam and his parents were present at the dinner table. 

He’d seen it done in movies, read it in books, but replicating it in real life was far trickier. Besides, he felt like his tactics for getting away with eating as little as possible would have to be adjusted to fool Liam now. After all, Liam had gone through what Zayn was going through right now, from what he gathered. 

So, he’d eaten dinner, but as little as possible, declined the offer of more as naturally as he could. Feigning being full was more difficult than one might think when Zayn didn’t know what that felt like anymore, even after eating for hours while bingeing, even when his stomach felt queasy and hurt from being stretched too far. 

_ There’s always tomorrow. You’ve messed up today, get back on track tomorrow. _

That line was the only optimistic thinking Zayn clung to through everything. Lately, though, it was followed by:  _ That thought is what keeps you from getting to your next goal weight. That’s the reason you’re not thin enough right now.  _

Then the waves of guilt would start up again, drowning him, suffocating him, The Hand squeezing, squeezing,  _ squeezing _ ever tighter. Slipping a hand under his shirt, he scratched at his stomach, scraped over the ridges of his ribs that protruded from under his skin, grazed over his hip bones that were poking out so much it felt like they might tear through the skin. Red lines, up and down and across. Zayn wished his hip bones  _ would _ tear through so he could grab the edges of the holes and pull himself out of the confining prison that his skin was. Or maybe just pull out all the fat underneath, leaving just bone and muscle.

_ Hungry, hungry, hungry.  _

The sheets of Liam’s bed were getting twisted around his legs and he fought with them to free himself, feeling restless. 

“Zayn?” 

The soft whisper from down below, next to the bed startled Zayn into stillness. 

“You awake?”

Zayn flopped down onto the pillow. He’d felt bad when Liam had insisted on sleeping on the floor, letting Zayn have his bed, but he absolutely loved being surrounded in Liam’s smell, his bedding saturated with it. 

“Yeah,” Zayn whispered back.

“S’wrong? Bed not comfortable?” Liam slurred, voice thick and syrupy with exhaustion.

“No, no, bed’s good. I just have trouble getting to sleep sometimes. It’s nothing.”

Zayn shifted again in the sheets, laying on his left side. Silence fell over the room again, and he thought Liam had fallen back to sleep. Moments later though, the sleeping bag rustled around down below, before his body shifted with the mattress dipping, giving way to Liam’s weight as he climbed into the small twin size bed. 

If he thought Liam’s bed alone smelled strongly of him, he wasn’t prepared for the all-encompassing scent of him when he draped his arm over Zayn, gingerly pressing himself to his back. 

Two teenage boys with gangly limbs in one twin size bed wasn’t ideal for comfort or sleeping, but Zayn relaxed back into Liam’s embrace, not wanting to move from the cocoon he was in. 

“Is this okay?” Liam asked, timidly. 

“Yeah,” Zayn replied, tentatively putting his hand over Liam’s arm. 

There was a pause, Zayn trying to collect himself, his body feeling both sedated and like a livewire, not used to having someone’s body pressed up behind him, nor was he familiar with the calm that washed over him. He shivered at the feel of Liam tucking his nose into the crook of his neck, soft breathing tickling him. 

“Can I ask you a question?” His heartbeat picked up as he let the words fall from his lips.

Liam hummed a confirmation. 

“Why did you. . .what made you. . .like, form an eating disorder? Don’t feel like you have to answer, of course.”

Liam’s arm stiffened around Zayn, before he took a deep breath and started fidgeting with the fabric of the thick pyjama top he loaned Zayn to wear for the night. 

“Well. . .after my dad made those bad investments, my family wasn’t doing too great financially. We started struggling to pay for simple things and even had to start going to the food shelf at one point. I got a job to help them pay for some of their bills, and doing that along with trying to keep up with my schoolwork and being on a track team was really stressful. I felt like there wasn’t any way my parents could get out of the situation we were in, even with how much I was trying to help.”

“That sounds exhausting,” Zayn interjected. 

Liam laughed breathily, humorlessly. “It was. Anyway, food sort of became my source of comfort. I started depending on it to make me feel good, you know? Safe or relaxed, I guess. With how much I was eating and the shitty food we were getting from the food shelf, I started gaining weight. And then, the bullying started. My track team was first to notice and comment on it, and then it spread from there to pretty much the rest of the school. Even my coach asked me how I could let myself go the way I did, told me I was going to drag the team down if I didn’t keep in shape,” Liam scoffed, bitterness seeping into his tone. “I quit, eventually.” 

“Oh, Liam,” Zayn murmured, rubbing up and down the forearm that Liam had wrapped around him. The words were insufficient, but Zayn felt that even someone who  _ was _ good at comforting others wouldn’t be able to soothe that kind of harsh pain that brutal words left behind. 

Liam took another deep breath. “Looking back on it, I think it was about wanting to get rid of the feeling that everything was out of control, including myself. I thought even if my parents’ situation was out of my hands, I could at least keep myself in check. And, at the same time, show the kids at my school that I wasn’t some slob. That I could somehow be better than them, if I became skinny enough,” Liam finished, voice sounding hoarse. Zayn knew it wasn’t from whispering. 

“You know you’re not though, right? You’re not, and you never were a slob. And there was nothing wrong with you gaining weight. I can’t believe your coach, of all people, would dare to put you down like that. . .seriously, what an  _ asshole,” _ Zayn spat.

Liam pulled Zayn tighter against him, his feet nudging into Zayn’s as he ran his nose along the column of his neck. 

“I know, babe. I know. I’m better now,” he soothed, fingers running just under the hem of Zayn’s shirt, rubbing circles into the skin. “I’m better.”

Zayn’s eyes slid closed on him, even though he wanted to keep talking to Liam. He fell asleep wondering what that felt like--what being better felt like and if recovering was really all it was cracked up to be. 


	5. Chapter 5

A week after the sleepover found Zayn standing on a doorstep, in front of a familiar white door. He made his hand into a fist, nails biting into the skin of his palm. Hesitating for one more moment, he knocked on the door. 

After a few moments passed, he heard footfalls from inside and inhaled sharply as the door was yanked open to reveal Niall’s mom. 

“Zayn! Hey, come on in!” She ushered him in with a waving arm. “Niall told me you were coming over today, and I could hardly believe my ears. He’s missed you so much, and I always wondered why you stopped coming over. You haven’t been around in so long.”

Zayn gave her a half-smile, shuffling in the doorway as she looked him up and down. He wondered if she was just buttering him up with the sentimental talk, or if Niall really had talked about how much he’d missed him. 

“Oh, it’s so good to see you again,” she cooed, pulling Zayn into a hug. 

Reluctantly, he wrapped his arms around the woman, wondering why he felt so strange embracing someone he once considered his second mom. It felt good, though, safe, even though he hadn’t seen her in so long.

Briefly, he wondered if she could feel his ribcage, if he felt smaller than he had before, if she was impressed at how much weight he’d managed to lose. 

“Well, I won’t hold you any longer. Niall’s up in his bedroom. I’m sure you remember the way,” she said, pulling away and nodding towards the stairs, big grin still shining on her face. 

Yesterday, Niall had asked him if he wanted to come over. The encounter had been awkward, but Zayn agreed, trying not to seem too eager, desperate. 

On the way to Niall’s bedroom, he passed the hallway mirror. Frantically, he scanned what he could of his body, his face. His cheekbones had never looked more prominent, his jeans had never been so baggy, hanging down from where his belt was securing the waistband of his pants around his hips. He couldn’t see his arms, because despite the weather warming up, he hadn’t stopped wearing layers of bulky sweaters and hoodies. He didn’t have money to buy himself tighter clothes yet, but it was a goal of his. After all, how could his progress truly be seen if it was hidden underneath oversized tops and ill-fitting pants. 

The acne, that had broken out on his face worse than ever before, put a damper on the triumphant feelings. The amount of diet soda he drank and the little amount of sleep he got, as well as how much he obsessively picked at his face, had done a number on his skin that used to be spot-free. It had gotten progressively worse since he started losing weight. Scabs and red spots outlined the bottom of his cheekbones and were scattered across his forehead. 

He shook his head, trying to focus on the fact he would soon be at his new goal weight: 110 pounds. 

He knocked once on Niall’s door before it swung open. 

“Hey,” he greeted Zayn, giving him his best hundred watt smile. “Make yourself at home.”

The room was almost the same as it had always been, Zayn found, looking around, inhaling the familiar scent of cologne and wood polish. Niall’s guitars were lined up on the wall farthest from his bed, his bed still in the center of the room, desk piled with what was a mix of sheet music and homework. It was a Saturday, so Zayn knew he wasn’t focusing on anything school-related, if he could help it. He sat down on the desk chair, noticing the new comforter on the bed and the updated posters of golf players were the only things that had changed since he’d last hung out with him.  

“Thanks for replying to the text I sent and agreeing to meet with me.” Niall followed him over, sitting on his bed opposite where Zayn was perched. 

Zayn nodded in reply.

The clock on the side table ticked on, counting each silent moment between them. 

“It was nice to see your mom again,” he offered, mind blanking with anything more interesting to say. 

“She was so happy when I told her you were coming over. So was I, of course,” Niall said. 

Zayn chewed on his lip, tasting blood as the cracks in them were irritated by his teeth. “Were you really? Are you? Are you actually happy I’m here?”

Niall’s brows scrunched up and then furrowed. “Yeah, Zayn. Of course I am. I was going to ask you what made you agree to come over since you seemed to lose all interest in me.”

Zayn flinched at the anger evident in his tone. “I came ‘cause I missed my best friend,” he confessed, voice rough, trembling.

He shook his head, running his hands through his already mussed blond hair. 

“Then why did you. . .leave me? Why did you push me away like you did? Do you know how clueless and unwanted I felt when my best friend got more and more distant and didn’t even bother to tell me why? Telling me you didn’t want to be friends with me would’ve hurt, but not as much as having you just walk out of my life without an explanation!” Niall’s voice rose with each sentence, pain and desperation seeping into his tone.

Zayn felt like he had just gotten punched in the stomach. He clutched onto the desk, trying to stay focused on what Niall was saying. He squinted his eyes, eyelids heavy from lack of sleep. 

“You didn’t seem to mind me pulling away, Niall. Why would you, what with Louis and Harry being around?” There was the slightest hint of bitterness in his tone, and he immediately regretted speaking the first thing that came to his mind. 

Jaw dropping, Niall scoffed. “I was trying to give you space. I know you and your parents don’t get along, and sometimes, when you’re going through something you just needed some time for yourself. At least, that’s how it was in the past. I thought, maybe, you needed space for a longer amount of time. I didn’t want to push you. Then, you kept getting more and more closed-off from me, so much so that I didn’t know how to approach you. I felt like you were changing into a different person right in front of me. I didn’t know how to talk to you anymore.”

Overwhelmed with the information being handed to him, and overcome by emotions, Zayn was silent.

“And what do Harry and Louis have to do with anything. They never did anything to you, did they? Thought they were good friends to you?” 

“They weren’t  _ my _ friends, Niall! They’re  _ yours. _ And why would you need me around when you have Louis, who’s a theatre star and the funniest person around, and Harry who can get you into any party  _ and _ sings  _ and _ plays guitar? Why would you have wanted  _ me, _ with my loner status and mediocre at best art skills, over  _ them, _ huh? Why would you want me to be your friend, even now, when all I’m good at is being skinny!” Zayn yelled, dizzy as he stood up. 

Vaguely, he registered he was swaying in place, breathless from his outburst. Panic rang through his brain like a headache, an alarm bell going off. 

_ Stupid fuck.  _

_ You’re not even good at that. Haven’t even reached 110 pounds. Now he knows what your goal is and will try to stop you from being better. Being perfect. _

_ Hide.  _

_ Hide. _

_ Hide. _

He wished he hadn’t been staring straight at Niall the whole time. Now, his face was crumpled, eyes roaming over Zayn’s subtly swaying form, putting two and two together and looking at him like he was seeing him for the first time, like he really  _ was _ someone else. 

“I had suspected--I didn’t want to believe--” Niall stammered, voice small as he gripped the footboard of his bed.

“I never should’ve come,” Zayn muttered, embarrassment burning through him, white-hot.

Feeling tears begin to form in his eyes, he stumbled towards the bedroom door, vision blurred. 

Before he could get passed Niall, the boy grabbed him, pulling him into a hug, fisting the material of his jacket. 

“You were my friend because you were fun to talk to, intelligent and curious about the world, always starting some new art project. I always knew you had my back. You supported my music career dreams, even when no one else believed in me. Not once, were you someone I wanted to replace. Louis and Harry are great in their own ways, but Louis and Harry aren’t  _ you, _ Zayn. They can’t be you, just like you can’t be either of them. And I need you.”

Zayn’s hands hovered over his back, suspended in the air, a sob tearing out of his vocal chords, making a terrible sound. 

Niall clutched him tighter, voice hoarse as he croaked, “I miss you.”

_ He knows. He knows. He knows. _

_ He’ll destroy all you’ve worked for. If you hadn’t gotten rid of him, you wouldn’t be as close to reaching your goal as you are now.  _

He had a pounding headache now, and he felt like the effort it took to put his hands on Niall, not to pull him closer, but to pull him away to get out of the desperate hug, was enough to tear him in two. But it was needed. 

He didn’t pause on his way to the door when he heard Niall let out a sob, and he didn’t look back when he let himself out of the bedroom.

  
  


\---

  
  


Sitting in his empty kitchen, back at home in his apartment, offered Zayn no comfort.

Both of his parents were working double shifts today, so he didn’t have to worry about anyone bothering him when he texted Liam to come over. 

It had been about fifteen minutes since he’d texted him and about an hour since he’d gotten home from Niall’s. But, even with all that time to calm down, he still felt uneasy. 

He had been right on the verge of asking Niall for help. He was so close to pleading, begging him to be his friend again, to do something,  _ anything _ to help him out of the living hell he’d created for himself to live in. He hadn’t reached that point, but just as terrible, he’d basically confessed that he starved himself. 

The overwhelming cocktail of emotions thrummed in his veins, and eating was all that he wanted. He stared at the fridge, thinking about the contents in it. He stared at the cupboards, stocked, though scarcely, with food. He stared at the fruit bowl, longingly looking at the lone banana laying inside. Even with it’s brown spots and bruise, it looked good enough to make his mouth water.

Making himself sit in the room that held all of his temptations was pure torture. He didn’t do it often, only when he needed to prove to himself he could resist. He could say no, refuse to give in to that slow, subtle rush of anxious energy in his limbs that reminded him he had put barely any food in his stomach. 

_ Eat. Eat. Eat.  _

_ Mom and Dad are gone. No one can judge you for it. _

He bounced his leg quicker, biting into the skin on his hand. Saying no now would gain him back some of the feeling of being in control that he had lost after going to Niall’s.

Breaking through his muddled thoughts was the ring of the buzzer, and Zayn made his way over to the intercom system to let Liam in quicker than he should’ve, if the colorful bursts floating through his vision were any indication.

A few minutes later came the knock on the door he was waiting for, and he opened it to reveal a flushed and breathless Liam.

“God, those stairs are fucking awful. I hope your landlord fixes the elevator soon,” Liam wheezed, walking into the entryway. 

Liam looked at him, giving him a shy smile, and Zayn felt like  _ he’d _ been the one walking up flights of stairs, breathless from the onslaught of pure awe and uncontrollable emotions that one smile brought forth in him. 

Surging forward, he hugged Liam to him. He let the contours of their bodies melt together, burying his face in the soft material of Liam’s sweater and the sweet smell of his neck. Liam’s chest rose and fell with the force of his labored breathing, and Zayn closed his eyes, marveling at the feeling of the rhythmic movement pressing against his own chest every two beats only to fall away again. 

The best part was when Liam’s arms cocooned him, wrapping around him tightly. A relieved sigh pushed between his lips that were pressed against Liam’s neck. He was surprised by the shiver he felt in return.

As much as Zayn wanted to stay pressed up against him, safe in a warm bubble, he knew he needed to pull away. 

He was grateful that Liam was affectionate, but that combined with his ability to make Zayn feel like he was the center of his attention whenever they were together created confusion for him. 

They’d had moments where it seemed both of them were on the verge of blurting out some type of confession, or on the edge of taking action to show they felt more affection for each other than people who are just friends do. But nothing had happened yet. 

So, if this in-between was all that Zayn could have, he’d take it. Despite staying up late at night, thinking of what could happen if he  _ did _ tell Liam that he wanted more than just a friendship, he’d take what he could get. Talking about how he felt only got him in trouble, and Zayn wanted the peace that Liam gave him when they were together. Admitting he had feelings for him was a risk, and he could lose Liam because of it. 

Besides, Zayn would feel like he would be stealing something from Liam if they actually did become boyfriends. Maybe he’d be stealing the other boys’ peace of mind or the opportunity to find someone who wasn’t so fucked up.

How could he ask Liam to be his boyfriend if he had already fallen in love with what he felt might be an illness?

“What’s wrong, Z?” Liam asked as Zayn pulled away. 

And, well, he liked the sound of that nickname far too much. He wished they could be Z and Li together, only for each other. 

He shook his head, mustering a smile and leading Liam to his room by the hand. 

He loved the way their hands fit together. Liam’s grip was firm, but loose enough that Zayn knew he’d be allowed to take his own out of the hold anytime. He held it like it was a privilege that could be taken away any second. 

“I’ve been thinking a bit more about the talent show,” Zayn said, silencing that tiny voice in his head that told him to tell Liam about what had happened with Niall. 

Surprise bloomed over Liam’s face, as well as excitement, and he scooted to the edge of the desk chair he was sat in. Zayn sat on his bed across from him, fidgeting with his hands as he tried to formulate the question he was gearing up to ask.

“You’re going to do it?” Liam chirped, voice going high with giddiness, placing his hands on Zayn’s knobby knees.

“Yes,” Zayn said simply.

He watched in amusement as Liam pumped his fist in the air, twirling himself around in the swivel chair for one rotation. Once he’d spun around to face Zayn again, he hugged his legs and rocked back, laughing triumphantly.

Zayn allowed himself to smile even as he tried to keep a serious face. He was propositioning something very important, after all. It was hard to do when Liam’s face was scrunched with a chuckle. Zayn let a laugh escape his lips, his insides fluttering like butterfly wings. 

After Liam calmed down, his hands returned to Zayn’s knees, squeezing, bouncing subtly in his seat like he couldn’t contain his excitement. 

“What’re you planning on performing?” 

“I’ll do the talent show  _ if,” _ Zayn paused, ignoring Liam’s question and lifting a finger, stopping Liam’s bouncing and causing his smile to falter, “and  _ only if, _ you do it with me.”

Panic surged through him like a powerful wave as Liam froze in his chair, hands becoming dead weight on his knees. 

“Wait, you-you really want me to do it with you?” Disbelief morphed Liam’s features into an expression of insecurity and confusion, a display of vulnerability that Zayn had never seen so blatantly shown upon the other boy’s face. 

“I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else,” Zayn confessed. 

A glorious blush spread over Liam’s cheeks and he ducked his head, a flattered, shy smile growing on his lips. 

“Well, as long as you really want me, I’d feel really lucky to do it with you.”

Oh, Zayn wanted him. Wanted him to be more than his friend, wanted Liam in every sense of the word. With the way he was looking at Zayn through his lashes, biting his lip as he tried to contain his smile, he was making it very hard for Zayn not to do something about it--like kiss him.

“Well, now that you’re on board, brace yourself for my idea,” Zayn warned, trying to think about calming things so he didn’t psych himself out before he was able to give Liam a chance to know what it was Zayn wanted to do for the show. 

“At first I thought of doing, like, a speed painting or something, but then I felt like that’d be too boring. Plus, painting alone in front of so many eyes would be too nerve-wracking for me. So, I thought maybe you would like to act as my canvas?” Zayn blurted, voice wobbly. 

“You mean, you’d want to paint  _ on me?” _ Liam’s voice rose in pitch, sounding unsure. 

Zayn nodded. “If you’re comfortable with it.”

Liam sat back in his chair, and Zayn didn’t miss how his hand rubbed at his abdomen, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. His brown eyes darted around the room, looking up to the ceiling. He took a deep breath, tilting his head down again, meeting Zayn’s eyes. 

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, let’s do it,” Liam finally spoke. 

Zayn was bowled over by the look in his eyes, that rich color always taking his breath away. The trust he saw in his gaze at that moment was one that Zayn never wanted to betray. 

He laid out the sheet that he would set on the floor when he painted, so any paint that would drip wouldn’t end up on his carpet. Liam sat down on the floor on top of it, while Zayn gathered his painting supplies. 

He’d had his back turned towards Liam, and once he’d turned around, he barely held onto the supplies in his hands at the shock of seeing Liam shirtless on his bedroom floor. Looking up at him, a blush on his cheeks, he folded his arms, resting his elbows on his crossed legs.

Zayn rushed to sit down, not wanting to stare any longer and look like a fool, making Liam feel uncomfortable in the process. His heart was beating far too fast, hands trembling so hard he was fumbling with the paints and brushes as he prepared them for use. Truthfully, he hadn’t thought through the fact that he’d be alone in a room with a half naked Liam, putting paint on his bare skin while still breathing, and trying to make a picture that was half-decent. 

Once he’d squirted enough paint onto his palette, he turned his gaze to Liam. The boy was fidgeting now, rubbing at his neck and crossing and uncrossing his arms. He looked self-conscious. 

Taking a deep breath, Zayn dipped his brush into a dark blue, promptly taking white to mix them together to create a sky blue color. When he moved to start painting, Liam hesitated in un-crossing his arms. 

“Don’t people normally paint on the back?” He wondered aloud, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Yeah, I guess. But I thought it’d be cool to take a different approach. If--if that’s alright with you?”

He nodded, but his eyes flicked between his bare torso and Zayn’s eyes, moving his arms away haltingly. Zayn watched, frozen, as he leaned back on his hands, reclining so Zayn could easily paint on his chest. He looked so lovely, spread out, flushed at being so exposed in front of another boy. Without being asked, he extended his legs, spreading them so Zayn could get between them to paint properly. 

Zayn  _ really _ hadn’t thought the whole process through. 

“This is going to be a bit cold,” he warned him, scooting closer on his knees to reach Liam’s ribcage where he’d start with applying the paint. 

Silently, Zayn watched how his skin broke out into goosebumps as the first swipe of paint was smoothed over his skin. His sides expanded and shrunk with trembling breaths. 

Abruptly, Zayn stopped, setting his palette down as well as his brush. He sensed the question of what he was doing coming from Liam, but it never came. 

“Just want to try something,” he explained anyway. 

Liam didn’t answer, only tensed as Zayn’s fingers dipped into the sky blue, and came closer to his ribcage, where the paintbrush had left a stripe of color before. 

“Relax,” Zayn whispered, settling into that calm headspace he went to when creating art. 

His fingers brushed along the skin of his ribcage, and he started applying more paint, swirling his fingertips through the dark blue shade to mix with the white right on Liam’s skin. 

All the while, he felt Liam’s eyes on him, and when he looked up he caught his eye. It threw him out of his natural state that he went into while painting, made him squirm where he was kneeled right in front of the boy, captured prisoner by a half-lidded gaze. Liam’s expression was innocent, head tilted back and to the side, studying where Zayn’s fingers painted on his skin. However, the look in his eyes gave away the vulnerability he was feeling. And much more daunting, what looked like attraction--maybe even lust.

Not wanting to be distracted further with his work, Zayn looked back to where he was painting, creating the background to his painting. 

It was extremely different to painting on a canvas. Liam’s skin gave way when he pressed on it, it was warm to the touch, and when he paused so the other boy could lean forward to itch his leg, his stomach folded into rolls. Once he’d started painting his stomach, his fingers rose with the small swell of it. 

Before, Zayn would’ve judged someone, or would’ve wondered how that person could be comfortable with having rolls or a little stomach or not being able to count their ribs.

All that he saw, now, was someone who had a beautiful body worth loving. He wanted to kiss the swell of Liam’s stomach, wished he could lick up his abdomen, longed to rest his head on the tender area where his heart was steadily beating, sure and comforting. 

He wondered if Liam would look at his body and want him if  _ he _ no longer had a flat stomach, if he,  _ too, _ had padding over his ribs and they didn’t stick out from his body.

It had been awhile, and his fingers had dragged paint all over his torso, creating a beautiful blue background, streaks of dark blue and white mixed in. He was almost finished, hands trailing down to paint the bare skin above the waistband of Liam’s pants, when Liam jerked his hips back suddenly, knees bending slightly around where Zayn was sitting between them. 

At first, Zayn was puzzled by the abrupt, defensive movement, until he happened to look down, noticing where Liam’s pants were tented. He looked up, feeling unsure of what to say or do now that it was obvious to the both of them what was happening. 

“Sorry,” Liam croaked, tilting his head back, squeezing his eyes shut briefly, as if he could will away the moment that had transpired. 

Enticed by the sight of Liam’s neck exposed in front of him, and the sensitive position he’d found himself in, Zayn rose up on his knees to look down at Liam. He lost his balance and gripped to Liam’s shoulders to steady himself, smothering blue handprints onto his skin. 

“Do you want to get up. . .so you can. . .you know?” he asked, timid.

Liam held his gaze, head still tilted back, eyelids drooping with each glance at Zayn’s lips. 

“No,” he breathed. 

“It’s natural, you know, um, I know it’s not ‘cause of. . .I can get up,” Zayn offered, though he made no move to leave. 

“Stay?” Liam pleaded, sounding so insecure, stripped of pride. 

The boy that had been bullied, knocked around, made fun of, seemed to have returned, leaving Liam’s heart racing and breathing short. Surely, it couldn’t be because of Zayn, surely his reaction to having him touch his skin, massaging paint onto him, wasn’t what had made his eyes so dark and his teeth to bite into that plump bottom lip of his.

_ How could he want you when you’re still so fat? How could he want you with all of that acne on your face? How could he want you when you still are so imperfect? _

The intrusive questions flashed in his brain, even as he moved closer, so close his breath mingled with Liam’s. He would’ve listened, had it not been for the evidence of Liam’s arousal pressing against the material of his jeans, the pure way he was letting Zayn see him so vulnerable, the undeniable desire that stirred in his eyes and made the apples of his cheeks red.

Because the voice in his head, the hand he felt squeezing around his waist anytime he thought of letting himself enjoy something--they were invisible, devices he’d created to keep himself inside the walls he’d built up so he’d have no chance of ever getting hurt anymore, unless he was the one inflicting it upon himself. 

Liam, on the other hand, he  _ was _ real. He wanted Zayn, and Zayn only needed to reach down and press a paint soaked hand to the crotch of his jeans to feel that. He could reach out and feel the solid structure of the boy. If he was imagining it all, he wouldn’t be able to slide his hand along the line of his shoulder to wrap around the column of Liam’s neck, looking at the streak of blue he’d left behind. 

He marveled at the feeling of Liam’s throat bobbing as he swallowed underneath his gentle touch. 

Slowly, he moved forward, closing the distance between their lips to join his with Liam’s. 

Upon touching his lips to Liam’s, he felt his muscles relax beneath where his other hand was still resting on Liam’s shoulder. Liam’s lips were trembling beneath his own, straining with the effort to keep the kiss gentle and not become too eager. Zayn never thought kisses could really be sweet, but that’s what Liam’s lips tasted like, and he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the fact that Liam was the embodiment of the word. His lips felt just as plump as they looked, feather-soft and smooth. Zayn knew his own lips were torn up from continuously biting on them, a nervous habit he couldn’t break. Self-consciously, he thought about how he should’ve been better with keeping them moisturized, wondering if Liam could even enjoy the kiss when Zayn’s lips were so cracked and dry.

The thoughts that threatened to ruin the moment melted away as the insecurity Liam seemed to have been feeling before ceased to impede him. Pushing up to get closer to Zayn, he surprised him with a swipe of his tongue over Zayn’s bottom lip. With a gasp, Zayn opened his mouth to the touch, unable to stop the shiver that ran through him. While Zayn had begun the kiss, he let Liam take the control now, choosing to marvel at the sensation of Liam licking into his mouth, exploring with care. 

Surrendering to the other boy and his actions, letting him lead the way, didn’t make Zayn panic. He thought, maybe, that giving up control wasn’t always a bad thing. Maybe the best way to enjoy life was to let himself ride the waves of emotions that new experiences brought him without thinking about it too much. 

Losing control felt good with Liam. Suddenly, Zayn felt hungry for more of it. He opened up wider for Liam, squeezed his eyes shut tighter to focus more intently on the unique feeling of having his tongue sucked on. A small noise he wasn’t expecting crawled its way up and out of his throat. Before he could feel embarrassed about it, Liam whimpered in response--a short, high pitched sound that made Zayn’s insides pull together as they did when he rode roller coasters.

He didn’t realize he’d begun to straddle Liam’s sprawled thighs, lowering himself so it was easier for Liam to do as he pleased, until Liam pulled away, a loud sucking noise echoing through the room as their lips separated. His hands had darted out to cup the back of Zayn’s thighs, keeping him from sitting in his lap. 

For a moment, they studied each other, and Zayn knew he could spend a lifetime trying to capture Liam’s beauty in that moment with all the mediums of art, but he still wouldn’t be able to do the sight of a freshly kissed Liam justice. 

His eyes shone bright, glossy, a richer shade of brown than Zayn had ever seen before. His puffy lips were wet with their mingled saliva, making the red color they’d turned, even more brilliant. 

Through a haze, he registered that Liam was pushing him away, situating Zayn back into the position he was in before. 

“I don’t--I don’t want to take things too fast,” Liam explained, noticing the furrow of Zayn’s brows. 

He nodded, tried not to let disappointment and the feeling of being rejected make him sour. To busy himself, he mixed yellow and white paint together on his palette, locating his brush easily. 

Before he could begin painting again, Liam’s sweaty palm rested on Zayn’s cheek, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. 

“I don’t want to take things too fast, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, Z,” Liam reassured him, eyes sincere. “I want us to fall into this slowly.”

“How do you fall for someone slowly?” 

Liam graced him with a shy smile. “By watching them make art in class, and letting them paint on your body, even though I’m way too affected by you to do that. I pulled back because I don’t want to rush you, make you uncomfortable,” he explained, referring to the bulge in his pants with a blush. 

“I wouldn’t still be painting on your bare chest if I was uncomfortable with how I affect you,” Zayn admitted, his smile mirroring Liam’s.

Liam breathed out a laugh, relief evident in the noise of it. 

“Who knows, maybe I suggested this idea for that purpose alone,” Zayn teased, his grin widening. 

Liam shoved at his shoulder, shaking his head and chuckling. He sat back on his hands again, in the same position they had started out with. 

A silent agreement passed between them, and Zayn began painting again, trying not to let his eyes wander downwards. The whole time he painted there was a tension between them that made Zayn’s body thrum with eagerness, his body still tingling from the kiss. Liam didn’t seem to be in much better of a state, if the way his chest rose and fell with short breaths and the swelling of his dick hadn’t gone down was any indication. 

At times, Zayn’s hair fell into his face, and Liam would brush the stray strands back, taking extra care to smooth his fingers through them and over his scalp. He tried not to hum at the touch. 

When he was finished, he sat back, studying his work from an artistic point of view and not the bias that he thought Liam could make anything look good.

He asked Liam if he wanted to see the finished piece and once he nodded, they got up to stand in front of the long mirror hanging on his wall. He pretended not to notice Liam adjusting himself in his jeans, no matter how much he wanted to stare at the sight of Liam’s strong hand cupping his hard-on.

“Woah,” Liam breathed, once he looked in the mirror. “I never thought finger-painting could make such complex art. I should’ve known it’d be amazing, since it was done by you.” 

A sun, with different shades of orange, yellow, and gold mixed in, rays in the shape of flower petals, stood proudly against the blue background painted onto Liam’s torso. 

He turned to Zayn, giving him an affectionate touch on his chin with his thumb and forefinger. 

Without thinking before he opened his mouth, Zayn blurted, “I can’t fall slowly for you.”

Liam’s eyes widened, his smile dropping. 

“I can’t, because I already  _ have _ fallen for you. But I’m willing to go at whatever pace you set if you actually want something with me.”

Liam’s thumb pulled down on Zayn’s lip, stepping forward to get closer to him. “I want everything with you.”

“Then, I’ll follow your lead.”

An understanding passed over Liam’s face, like the realization that Zayn was giving him the control over how their relationship would progress was finally impacting him. After all, it wasn’t a small deal for Zayn to let someone else lead him in anything, but this time it felt like the only right way to do things. 

Zayn didn’t want to try to figure things out with how his brain was. He only wanted to feel, only wanted to experience the freedom he’d felt when he’d kissed Liam. If he could give Liam the control in this, maybe he could give some of the desire up to micro-manage every aspect of his life. Maybe the hand would loosen it’s suffocating hold on him, and he could learn to breathe. 

“We’re a team, Z,” Liam replied. “We’ll make decisions together. But if you want me to decide how to go from here, I’ll gladly do it.” He carded his fingers through his hair again, whispering in a small voice, one Zayn wasn’t sure he was meant to hear, “Do anything for you.”

And that was more than Zayn could ask for. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

“And just remember, class, your final art project pieces are due in two weeks, so make sure you’ve got them prepared to present and turn in,” Andi reminded the class over the sound of backpacks zipping up and art supply cabinets banging closed. 

Zayn couldn’t believe that next week was already the first week of May. Both his art project was due soon, and next weekend was when the talent show would take place. He didn’t feel ready for either of them. 

When he and Liam made their way into the cafeteria, before getting to their usual table that they sat at, Liam took his hand to get his attention. 

“What do you think of joining Niall at his table?”

Zayn tilted his head, looking at Liam strangely. “Why would we do that?”

Shrugging, Liam replied, “Harry invited me to eat lunch with him at their table a couple days ago. I thought it would be a good opportunity to repair your friendship with Niall, and Louis and Harry as well, and I could get to know them better, too.”

Before he could stop himself, Zayn frowned, looking down at where his hand was engulfed by Liam’s. The idea of going over there, sitting and socializing with the people who didn’t want him, were better off without him, made him feel nauseous. 

“It was just a suggestion. I get why you wouldn’t want to go. I didn’t mean to pressure you or anything,” Liam backtracked, shaking his head as he spoke, proceeding to pull Zayn along with him to their own table. 

As much as Zayn hated the idea of going over there, especially after his disastrous attempt to fix things with Niall, he hated the idea of holding Liam back from making more friends at school even more. He’d had a hard enough time at his old school. The last thing he needed or deserved was having someone holding him back from making friends at his new one. Zayn would be damned if he was selfish enough to do that.  

Abruptly, he stopped, pulling back on Liam’s hand. “No, we can join them.”

Liam looked startled. “I really don’t mind us sitting alone. I don’t want to force you into an awkward situation.”

Zayn’s lips twitched up, lifting his free hand to tickle under Liam’s chin. He’d been taking more liberty in touching Liam when he felt like it. He could, now, knowing Liam felt the same towards him. Delighting in the blush that spread over Liam’s cheeks at the unexpected touch, he reassured him, saying, “I know you’d never force me into anything. I’m really fine with going over there.”

Which wasn’t a lie, because he was fine going over there, if it meant Liam gaining a stronger friendship with one or more boys at the table. It was just the fact that he wouldn’t be fine if any of the boys took notice of  _ him.  _

Liam looked unconvinced, checking once more that it was okay before Zayn pushed him towards the table, sighing exasperatedly, insides squirming at how sweet Liam was. 

“Liam!” Harry called once they got near enough for the others to see them. “Zayn! Come join us!” 

The curly-haired boy was waving them over, standing up slightly so they could see him better, as if Zayn didn’t know this was where Niall and his crew sat every lunch period. Posessively, Louis was tugging the bottom of his boyfriend’s flannel down, covering his boxer-briefs that his sagging jeans were doing a great job of exposing to the whole school. 

“Here, come sit by me, Liam,” Harry said, putting his big paw of a hand on Liam’s waist once they got close enough, guiding him to sit in the free spot next to him. 

Looking at Zayn with an upturned eyebrow, a smirk twitching on his lips, Louis’ piercing gaze settled on their entwined hands. Already overwhelmed by the amount of noise surrounding him as the rest of what made up Niall’s friend group chattered and ate, Zayn turned away, not knowing how to respond.

He tried not to get jealous of Harry’s hand that was still resting on Liam’s waist as they fell into an easy conversation. The fact that the open spot next to Liam put him right across from Niall, wasn’t helping to ease his anxiety, either. He gripped Liam’s hand tighter, not caring how sweaty his palms were. Avoiding the continuous glances from Niall, he looked down at his lap, trying not to squirm like a child where he sat. He was sure if Liam had known of the latest fight he’d had with him, he wouldn’t have suggested sitting with them at all. So, he didn’t blame Liam for his discomfort, and he was happy to see how comfortable he seemed to be getting with both Harry and Louis. Zayn just wished he _ himself  _ didn’t feel so out of place at the moment. 

He realized he’d been gripping Liam’s hand too tightly when Liam started struggling to loosen his grip so he could open his lunch bag. 

“Z, love?” He asked, turning away from Harry and Louis. He moved in close, lips near to his ear so he’d be heard over the din of the cafeteria. “You okay?”

Zayn swore his heart tripled in speed at the new term of endearment, breathless with Liam so close. He turned to him, lips closer than he’d anticipated. It took everything in him not to kiss him senseless then and there. 

Faking a smile, he simply nodded, as he remembered there were others around them, and he could feel Niall’s gaze burning into him. 

Liam didn’t look convinced, but with no admission from Zayn that he didn’t want to sit there, he turned back to his lunch.

Zayn started unpacking his own lunch of a banana and a salad, feeling more and more unnerved by Niall’s unwavering stare. As he unpeeled his banana and moved to take the first bite, Niall abruptly shoved his large foot-long sub of a sandwich across the table towards Zayn.

“Wanna trade lunches?” He asked. 

Startled, Zayn sat back, staring at the sandwich and then at Niall. He shook his head, squinting his eyes at Niall. “I’m good with my lunch.”

“Okay, but that salad looks really good, and I don’t eat enough vegetables. Come on, let’s trade.”

The salad was plain with the smallest amount of light salad dressing drizzled over the top. It was also small, and he hadn’t put any tomatoes, cheese, or croutons on it. To hear Niall say it looked good confirmed his suspicion of what he was trying to do. 

“I don’t want your sandwich, Niall,” he said through clenched teeth, pushing the sandwich back. 

“Well, I want your salad. So, you should eat my sandwich, and I’ll eat your salad,” Niall countered, sounding awkward and shifting in his seat as he looked at Zayn. 

Feeling his face flush, Zayn noticed that a few of the guys and girls at the table were looking over, hearing the tension in both their voices. 

“What is your deal? This isn’t middle school. I don’t want to trade lunches,” he bit out, feeling worn out from the argument. 

The sandwich was Niall’s usual that he made at home for lunch--his favorite, packed with meat, condiments, and different cheeses. Zayn knew that he would never choose a salad over that, which meant the only reason he was suggesting a switch was because of what Zayn had said during their argument at his house.

Niall looked down, face gloomy as he played with a napkin. In a small voice, he asked, “Will you at least just eat half?”

Having had enough, Zayn slammed his uneaten banana down onto the table, getting most everyone’s attention. He noticed Liam looking at him, concerned. “Stop asking me to eat your food! I don’t want it!”

He  _ did _ want it, though. Wanted the chicken between his teeth, the cold feel of the condiments and the tang of pepper jack cheese and sharp cheddar on his tongue, wanted the thick bread sticking to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to swallow it all down, solid and comforting.

But, no, that wouldn’t do. It would make him feel sluggish, weighed down. He had finally reached his goal weight, 110 pounds. 

He was air, he was light, he was good, pure, clean. He was proud of himself for getting so far. 

Only, he wanted to go farther. Sandwiches weren’t going to get him there. 

“I just wanted to trade with you. Why are you being so defensive about it? Just. . .” Niall trailed off, at a loss for words and looking more confused and frustrated by the second. 

“I wouldn’t have to be defensive about it, if you weren’t forcing it on me! Why won’t you just leave me alone?” Zayn stood up from the table, aware his voice had risen in volume. 

His heart was beating fast from the attention on him, as well as the anger that coursed through his veins. 

“Because I did that and look what happened!” he shouted, his normally loud voice rising to rival Zayn’s outburst. 

“Hey, what the hell’s going on?” came Liam’s voice, and Zayn felt a gentle hand on his, even as his eyes were glued to Niall. He had never heard Liam angry before. 

But Zayn was too angry, himself, to acknowledge him, staring Niall down before turning away from the table and storming off, making his way through the cafeteria with blurry eyes and a heart that was speeding up the more he moved. 

He was short of breath as he reached his locker, far away from the noise and embarrassment of the cafeteria. Slumping down, he allowed himself to slide to the floor, drained from the emotional outburst and the anxiety of having so many eyes on him. He dug his thumbs into the corners of his eyes, trying to stop the tears that threatened to make an appearance. 

Shoes squeaked on the linoleum down the hall, and he looked up to see Liam running towards him, unzipped hoodie flying out on the sides like a cape. 

Whenever Zayn needed him, there he was--like an angel of light, his guardian, his protector. 

The thought only made him want to cry more, and he couldn’t help the tears that gathered in his eyes. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Liam cooed, crouching down to his level, immediately wrapping Zayn in his embrace. 

Zayn’s body shook them both with the force of his sob. “You deserve better. I don’t--don’t want you to have to always be talking me off a ledge,” he croaked, more tears running down his face, soaking the sleeves of his shirt as he burrowed further into the ball he was trying to make himself into. 

The only thing holding him together right now, he felt, were Liam’s arms around him, his body pressed against his side, rocking him back and forth. 

The Hand--all along, The Hand was never holding him together. It was crushing him, cutting into him, squeezing him so hard until he shattered like glass in the freezing temperatures of winter. Over and over went the cycle, and each time he put himself back together with less pieces than he had before, losing bits of himself in the process. 

“Hey, hey, none of that, alright? Just want you to be alright, baby, just want to see you happy,” Liam whispered into his neck, placing tender kisses onto the intimate place. The warmth from his lips, his words, felt like glue, making its slow descent down Zayn’s rough surface to seep into the cracked places and take hold there. 

The words only made him cry harder, though, because he wasn’t alright. He wasn’t happy. The short-lived euphoria he experienced from getting to 110 pounds didn’t seem worth fighting with someone he used to call his best friend, didn’t seem worth the distance he still felt he had to keep from Liam who he wanted to have so close he would be secure in Zayn’s arms forever. It didn’t seem worth sitting on the dirty floor of his school and missing out on laughing with Harry at whatever crazy antics Louis got into in the lunchroom. 

Liam rocked him, kissed him, hugged him until he calmed down. He didn’t force him to look up, didn’t tell him to stop crying. Occasionally running a hand down Zayn’s curled back, he sat there, sometimes rubbing his thumb over the back of his neck. He was quiet through Zayn’s sobs, save for the gentle terms of endearment he let slip out of his lips onto his neck.  

Once Zayn’s tears stopped, and he’d gone silent, Liam ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it. 

“Let me see those pretty brown eyes,” Liam requested, voice like molasses, soothing and deep. 

Zayn only wanted to have him keep speaking until he fell asleep. Nevertheless, he lifted his head, hazel eyes meeting Liam’s dark brown. His lips lifted in a small smile, thumb ever so gently wiping away the wetness smeared over Zayn’s cheeks. “There they are,” Liam whispered, before leaning in to place a warm kiss on his lips.

The heat spread through his limbs, and he reached a hand up to cup Liam’s cheek to keep him there just a little longer. 

“What happened back there, baby?” Liam asked, once they’d parted.

Zayn shook his head. “Don’t want to talk about it.” He didn’t even want to think about it. 

“Okay, I understand. I  _ would _ like to know what happened to get you and Niall so upset at each other in there, but that can wait for another time.”

Zayn sighed deeply, uncurling from his ball and leaning his head on Liam’s chest, half of his body leaning back against his torso. Liam lifted his arm up and settled it around his shoulders to accommodate him, make space. He placed another kiss to the top of his head.

He felt like Liam wanted to say more, like an apology was building up in him, preparing to be launched out into the air. Because that was who Liam was. Someone who had learned to never expect others to want to shove aside their own feelings about something so that he could have something good. He’d learned to think of himself as unworthy of others’ attention, that it would be a mistake to expect anyone to make a space for him in their life. 

Zayn wanted to prove those learned thoughts and feelings he could sense Liam had towards himself wrong. 

If only he wasn’t so hindered by his own mind. 

“You want to come to mine after school?” Liam asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. 

Zayn played with the inseam of his jeans. “As long as you don’t mind me napping once we get there.”

Liam chuckled and shifted so he could press his nose into his cheek. “Are you kidding? I would be honored to nap with  _ the _ Zayn Malik.”

Zayn sniffled and rubbed his wet nose on his sleeve, rolling his eyes to distract himself from the somersaults his stomach was doing. He was glad Liam was behind him, the other boy oblivious to the flush Zayn could feel was heating his face. Then again, he could probably feel it on his lips as he pressed them to Zayn’s cheek. 

  
  


\---

  
  


As soon as they got to Liam’s apartment after school ended, he led the way through the living room and down the small hallway, until they reached his room. Both boys dropped their backpacks and rid themselves of their jackets, before dropping down onto Liam’s tiny bed and settling beneath the covers, not a word passing between them. 

Zayn loved that Liam understood his need for silence. 

The exhaustion of the day was threatening to pull him down into a deep slumber, but he had a question nagging at his mind. He turned over to find Liam already looking at him, making him blush. 

“Hi,” Liam whispered, tracing a finger over Zayn’s chapped bottom lip.

“Hi, yourself,” he replied, voice scratchy and tired. 

Liam grinned wider at that, going on to trace all the features of his face with a feather-light touch. 

“What’re you mulling over in that brilliant mind of yours?” Liam asked after a few moments of silent tracing. 

Zayn blinked a few times before replying, “Was just wondering how you do it. . .Like, how do you keep being social, keep pushing yourself into new and uncomfortable situations, like being with a new group of people at lunch, after all you’ve been through at your old school?”

Briefly, a look of surprise passed over Liam’s face, his finger stilling in it’s trail over Zayn’s left eyebrow. He swallowed, his eyes looking towards the ceiling before he looked back at Zayn again, finger moving to stroke over his cheek. 

“After all I went through--the bullying and. . .starving myself--I got tired of isolating myself. It wasn’t until the end of my time at treatment that I really realized how much I’d kept myself from having great experiences, all because I was afraid of having to eat or people finding out what I was doing to myself. I became afraid of being around anyone. Hell, I stopped showering in the locker rooms at school because my team had started to mock me, calling me names all related to the weight I’d gained. 

So, I stopped putting myself out there. But that gets exhausting, just as much as getting bullied does. Before, I thought it was safer to isolate myself. But then I was left alone with my thoughts that were just as bad as being around the bullies. So, even though it’s hard, and sometimes I’m fucking terrified of doing it, I keep trying. Try to make new connections, new friends, try new hobbies. Because I know what life is like when I take all that away. And that didn’t feel like living. I didn’t even feel  _ human.” _

Zayn watched the whole time he was talking. He watched his face change from emotion to emotion, rode along the turbulent currents of his voice, the up and down of it. It stirred something within him--the sincerity with which Liam described his experience. He felt sympathy for him, hurt for him, but along with that something in him felt found. As if a sprout that had been wilting inside of him, due to being kept in the dark, had finally gotten sun and was warming itself under its rays.

He was thirsty for the light, wanted to drink and soak it up, bathe in it until it was shining from his every pore. 

He burrowed into Liam, wrapping his arm around the other boy and tucking his head into his chest, leg wrapping around Liam’s. Liam accepted him readily, immediately wrapping himself around him in return, nose and lips finding their home in Zayn’s greasy locks. 

“I’m so glad you tried with me.”

Liam let out a breath, and Zayn felt the tremble in it, the awe. 

“ _ Thank you. . .”  _ Zayn breathed again, “for how you  _ keep on _ trying with me,” he whispered into Liam’s warm chest.

He was on the precipice of falling into a deep sleep when Liam said something that sent panic surging through his every limb like an electric current, body rigid in Liam’s hold. 

“You know,” he started off slowly, like he was lining up his words carefully before letting them out. “If you’re dealing with anything similar to what I did, you can tell me. No judgement,” Liam promised. 

With the tone Liam was using, Zayn should have felt calm, but instead he felt breathless, like the air had gotten knocked out of him. He’d had his suspicions that Liam could tell he was going through great lengths to be skinny. But this--this bold intrusive question that was delivered as a soft suggestion--this wasn’t something that Zayn could brush off. Sluggishly, his mind scrambled to find some kind of lie, or a response that would derail any further investigation into why he acted so weird around food. 

Unlike with Niall, Zayn found it harder to come up with something to shove Liam away from the subject, which in turn, would push the boy away from him, too. Liam had revealed so much of himself, and it was obvious to Zayn that it had taken courage for him to even try to be friends with someone as reluctant as Zayn. 

Now, they had made it to a point where they were more than that, and Zayn hated the idea of letting The Hand pull him back, again, from someone who made him feel braver and freer. 

Liam was the very definition of brave, and the last thing Zayn wanted to be in front of him was a coward. 

Still, the boundaries had been put in place for a reason. The lies had been told for protection. Ignoring that, destroying the illusion he’d built, would mean certain failure in making that illusion reality--to be effortlessly skinny. 

The silence stretched on between them, and alarm bells rang in Zayn’s head. His failure to give a response made room for Liam to continue the investigation he had started. All he could do was lay frozen, motionless, ears wide open and eyes squeezed shut.

“I hope I’m not overstepping? The thing is, Zayn, you’re--you’re worrying me,” Liam’s voice cracked. His grip tightened around him, as if he was trying to absorb him, as if there was a threat that he might dissolve right then and there in his arms. 

_ No, no, no. Not that, anything but that,  _ Zayn thought hearing the despair in Liam’s voice.  

“I know what it’s like, and--and I can see you’re not happy and you’re--you just--I want you to know you can be honest with me. I  _ want _ you to be honest with me. Whatever is making you feel like you have to destroy yourself, I promise, it’s not bigger than you or me. You’re stronger than it. I know that sounds like bullshit, but I could help you until you trust in yourself enough that you believe you’re bigger than this.”

Zayn wanted to scream at him to shut up, to go away, to spit out the  _ ‘this’ _ he was speaking of. He wanted him to say it out loud, because he, himself, wanted the proof that he wasn’t just making the suffering he was going through up. 

Instead, his lips stayed clamped shut, his body paralyzed from doing anything to prevent this sudden concern from Liam expose his darkest secret. 

“Maybe you’re dealing with something else entirely different than what I went through, but I can’t help but notice the things you do that are the same or similar to exactly what I did before I went in to get treatment.”

With each new word out of Liam’s mouth, Zayn wanted to sob, to confess, to beg for help. He wanted the recovery that had saved Liam. His hands thawed enough from his frozen state to clutch at Liam’s shirt, feeling the material between his fingertips. Everything he wore was always so soft. 

“It’s not real,” he whispered, the words coming out in a whisper, mouth disconnected from his brain and acting on its own volition. 

Cupping the back of his neck, Liam’s hand pressed against where the fragile muscles and tendons trembled beneath his touch, the blunt bone at the base of his neck stuck out abnormally and pressed into his palm. 

“It  _ is _ real, because  _ you’re _ real. You’re real, Zayn.  _ I _ see you,” Liam murmured into his hair, his body shaken by the silent sob that wracked Zayn’s. 

Liam  _ did _ see him. Andi and Mr. Higgins had seen him. Niall had seen him. It was becoming apparent to him that maybe the words were striking him differently coming from Liam because Liam knew. Really, honestly, truthfully,  _ knew _ the hell he was trapped in. Because he’d been trapped there, too. And he was the only one out of everyone who not only saw Zayn, but also understood what, or rather  _ who _ , he was looking at.  

He didn’t have the energy to speak anymore, panic and relief battling for ownership over him, exhausting him more than his breakdown at school. Sleep came quickly to him, with Liam’s presence a promise. Of what? Zayn didn’t know. But he did know that he’d be there when he woke up, and that was all the comfort he needed at that moment. 

 

\---

  
  


Three hours later found the two boys sitting down at the dinner table with Liam’s parents and his sisters. 

Sitting with them, in their warm dining area, little candles lit in the middle of the table, Zayn felt awkward. It had nothing to do with them, and everything to do with how hyper-aware he was of what a mess he looked. 

Only minutes ago, Liam had woken him up by gently stroking his cheek, and he’d only had time for a quick glance in Liam’s bedroom mirror to try and tame the limp, stringy hair that fell over his forehead--a far cry from what the maintained quiff he used to have the energy to style it into looked like.

He hadn’t showered in four days, and though he was careful to always put deodorant and cologne on, that didn’t mask the fact that his hair was in dire need of a wash. He wanted to make a good impression on the Paynes. Though Liam seemed to accept him with his bad upkeep of hygiene, for whatever reason, that didn’t promise him that the rest of the family wouldn’t look down on him for not fulfilling a basic routine every person should. 

“We’re glad to have you over for dinner again,” Mrs. Payne said, smiling wide at him. 

“Thank you, um, for allowing me to join you,” he replied, and Liam squeezed his thigh reassuringly under the table. 

“Of course, dear. Take however much food you want, there’s lots here,” she said.

“I’ll dish you,” Liam murmured to him, picking up the plate that had been set up in front of him.

Zayn wanted to kiss him right then and there, thankful that his, well, his person, for a lack of a better word since they hadn’t had  _ that _ talk yet, was sensitive to the fact that having dinner with his family made him a little anxious.

He hoped Liam hadn’t caught on that it was difficult to have any kind of meal with anyone, that eating in front of people was a chore, exhausted him. 

He pointed out the food he wanted, and Liam dished him it. This turned out to be only salad, but Zayn asked for a lot of it and hoped he could eat it slow enough so that everyone would finish their dinner at the same time he finished his salad. That way, there’d be no questions asked about it. It’d be forgotten. 

“You don’t want any lasagna, Zayn?” Nicola asked from where she sat across from him, pointing with her fork at the steaming pan of lasagna that sat in the middle of the table.

God, this was why he hated eating in front of people. There was always a risk someone noticed what he was eating or how little he was eating. Resisting the urge to sigh exasperatedly, he stared at the lasagna and looked to Liam, the internal battle freezing him from making a decision. 

“Li made the lasagna himself while you were sleeping. He had already started on it when I came to visit at five-thirty. He said he wanted to make something really delicious since you missed out on having lunch today,” Ruth said, smirking at the two of them.

There was a thump heard under the table and a small sound of pain from Ruth before she sent a glare back at Liam who was already giving her a death stare.

Zayn hated,  _ hated,  _ when people made or bought food for him. The moral dilemma of turning down the offer of eating something someone slaved over in the kitchen or immediately throwing away something that was bought for him, essentially throwing away someone’s hard-earned money, messed with his decision making. 

“I never heard you leave the bed,” Zayn finally said, buying time for himself. He noticed the scarlet red flush on Liam’s face as the boy turned away from shooting daggers at Ruth with his eyes. 

“You’re a pretty deep sleeper. Not even Loki licking your face and hand for a whole minute woke you up.” Liam grinned, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

It was Zayn’s turn to blush this time, ducking his head. “ _ You _ woke me up pretty easily,” he mumbled under his breath, remembering the calming manner with which Liam had stroked his cheek, soft words of affection tumbling from his mouth. 

“God, not in front of my salad,” Ruth breathed, rubbing a hand over her face jokingly. 

Zayn could feel his palms begin to sweat, his face heating even more at how that must’ve sounded. 

“Liam, plate our guest some of your fancy lasagna, already. Salad’s not going to fill him up,” Nicola ordered, her lips twitching at the corners, eyes sparkling. 

Zayn felt like his face was on fire as Liam fumbled with the spatula and slid a heaping portion of lasagna onto his plate. 

The thought of Liam waking up from their nap and immediately going to the kitchen to make lasagna specifically with him in mind warmed him from the inside out. He wanted to finish it all, show his gratitude that Liam thought so much of him that he’d cook for him. 

The trouble with eating in front of people, though, was that his ears would hone in on the sound of his chewing so much until it felt like he was holding a microphone and blasting it through speakers for everyone to hear. His muscles would tense, and opening his jaw wide enough for him to push food into his mouth became a difficult task. It felt as if his whole body seized up, every cell in him not wanting him to put food in his mouth or his stomach, refusing the intake of calories and overwhelmed by the paranoia that people were judging  _ how _ he ate. 

He wished, he  _ desperately _ wished that he could relax. It had been so long since he could remember when he hadn’t focused on calories or opening his mouth wide enough to eat or, alternatively, when he was alone, to not scarf all his food down before he could even enjoy or taste it. 

The difference in how Liam’s family had dinner and how Zayn’s had dinner was massive. 

For one, he barely ever ate a meal with his family. When they  _ did _ sit down together, it was filled with awkward silences and topics of conversation that further stressed him out. Whether his parents were lecturing him about something he wasn’t doing right or one of them getting on each other about money or something else that caused tension, it was never an enjoyable experience. 

Liam’s family, however, was always finding things to laugh about. Zayn took pleasure in seeing how he came out of his shell, his deadpan humor making an appearance. Everyone was respectful of each other. Even through the sibling bickering, he could see how much love Liam and his sisters had for each other, how much they enjoyed each other’s presence, and he noticed how Mr. and Mrs. Payne exchanged looks of amusement and love at their children and at each other. 

_ Safe. _ That’s what Zayn felt around them and in their home. He felt safe. Not judged on his appearance or status or popularity, but welcomed and liked by everyone at the dinner table. 

After they were done eating, he offered to help Mrs. Payne with washing the dishes as Liam and his sisters cooed over Loki who was playing with his new toys that the girls had brought over with them. 

“This is the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time,” Mrs. Payne said, catching Zayn off-guard and pulling him out of the trance he’d fallen into as he watched Liam giggle at his puppy who had taken a break from his toys to playfully nip and lick at his face and hands, towel and dripping plate forgotten in his hands. 

He gave her a shy smile. “Loki is really good at cheering people up.”

Mrs. Payne chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s not Loki who’s made such a huge difference in his life,” she murmured, looking at him pointedly. “You two have something special, I know that. I can’t remember a time when Liam talked so much about someone before like he does about you. I wanted to thank you for looking out for my boy since he started at your school.”

Zayn shrugged, trying to keep control of the warm feeling bubbling up inside him at her words. “We look out for each other. Really, he’s looked out for me more than the other way around. He’s--Inspiring,” he choked out the last word, his voice becoming thin. 

Mrs. Payne squeezed his shoulder, eyes misty. 

They returned to the dishes, and when Liam retrieved him from the kitchen later, taking his hand to lead him out so he could drive him home, Mrs. Payne said goodbye with a secret smile on her face, eyes focusing on Zayn before drifting to where the two boys were connected by the hands.


	7. Chapter 7

108\. 108. 108! 

One hundred and eight pounds. 

The numbers flashed on the screen, black against the grey background of his digital scale, red against the black backdrop of his closed eyelids. 

Standing on the cold surface of it, he felt tired, hands clenched in the fabric of the sweater that was clinging to his frail frame. He’d ditched the de-robing ritual he’d been doing since he began his daily weigh-in. It was too cold to do that now, too much of a hassle to undress every time. Though it was already May, he hadn’t stopped wearing his sweaters and hoodies, sometimes doubling or even tripling up on layers at night.

He took it as an accomplishment. A reward for his hard work.  

“One hundred and eight,” he murmured to himself, his voice rough and dry, frayed around the edges and from more than just the sleep he’d awoken from not long ago.

“One hundred and eight,” he repeated again, once he’d stepped over to his full body mirror, turning this way and that, contorting his body to see the different ways his bones could stick out, extending his arms out to and circling his hand around the circumference of them. 

His eyes returned to his face, watching as it crumpled as he repeated the number to his reflection, again and again, trying desperately to find the satisfaction he used to feel when he reached a new low weight. His nails dug into his arms, scraped the dry, flaking skin until there were claw marks all the way down them. 

He could feel the echoes of a frenzy building in him. Why wasn’t the thing he based his very identity on, the thing he centered his whole life around not giving him the breath he so desperately needed to exhale. 

Where was the relief, the sense of control? 

Control, he thought, scoffing. The very thing he was seeking to gain felt like it was slipping farther from him as he struggled to stay upright and steady in place, his muscles fatigued from the simple task of keeping him upright just so he could continue to scrutinize every line and angle on his body. 

He felt like the geometric art pieces they learned about in class. A portrait with all of the shapes out of place, his face a sad, mixed up thing, eyes where his mouth should be and mouth where his eyes belonged. 

He scratched at his chest, wanting to cry, but his eyes were as irritated and red and dry as his skin. He squeezed them closed, tight, over and over, willing for his reflection to become a blurry, unrecognizable form. 

The conversation with Liam last week had done something to him in the moment, but he was back in the clutches of The Hand. He’d made sure not to lose himself to whimsical fantasies of ‘recovery’, whatever that meant. Once he’d gotten home, he’d given himself a stern talking to in the shower, the water set to it’s coldest temperature to burn more calories, and the coarse texture of his loofa in the grip of his ruthless, angry hand leaving his skin red and raw.

Now, a week later he’d reached a new low, and he’d never felt so strange and empty in his life. It was a Saturday, the day of the talent show. Liam would be meeting him at the school where they would wait to perform once the show started at six. 

He’d slept late into the afternoon. It was around one o’clock when he went into the kitchen, debating whether to have a packet of oatmeal or tea. Or to forego both and only drink water until he felt full and nauseous. 

His mom was sitting at the table eating a donut, a steaming cup of fancy coffee, that no doubt was loaded with calories and fattening milk and syrup, in her other hand.

“You’re awake,” she observed, eyebrows raised in judgement. 

Sighing, Zayn ran a hand through his hair. “I needed to sleep in. Haven’t been getting much sleep lately,” he admitted, standing awkwardly next to the kitchen table. 

“I see. Working hard on your homework assignments I hope?” His mom asked, not looking at him as she set the coffee cup down to turn a page in the magazine she was reading. 

“Um, yeah,” he fibbed, scratching at his skin. He thought of what he could say to change the subject, not wanting another lecture from her about how his grades were still far below what they should be for him to have even a chance at getting into a prestigious college after senior year next year. Frankly, Zayn couldn’t care less about the colleges his parents had discussed him applying to. He just wanted to make art. 

“Are you coming to the talent show tonight?” He asked, voice small as he edged closer to the table, leaning against it for support. 

“What talent show?” she mumbled through her bite of chocolate glazed donut, still not looking at Zayn. 

“It’s--Louis’ putting on a talent show,” Zayn stuttered, not getting a reaction. “At--at school.”

He scraped his nail along one of the cracks in the worn down varnish of the table. “It’s tonight. At six.”

“Why would I care what Louis is doing at his talent show? He doesn’t even come around here anymore. Good thing, too. He was always a troublemaker. Not as bad as Niall, with how much that boy kept putting dreams of art school into your head, but still. A troublemaker.”

Zayn felt the sting of the words as they were spoken. He opened his mouth to defend his friends, or who used to be his friends, but quickly shut it. Louis had been nothing but a mischievous, sweet boy, and Zayn had admired his fearlessness in everything he did. And Niall--Niall had been the closest thing to a brother he’d ever had.

Swallowing loudly in the quiet kitchen, he watched as his mom took another bite from the donut, pieces of the chocolate glaze that was harder around the edges chipping off. 

“Ugh, I shouldn’t even be eating this,” his mom grumbled to herself, putting down the donut and taking a sip of the coffee. Zayn recognized the logo of the bakery down the street on the cardboard cup. 

He shook his head, trying to get back on track with what he was building up to say. “Well, it was Louis’ idea to put it on, but it’s not just Louis who’s performing. I mean, lots of other kids are, too. Me and Liam are. . .too,” he finished slowly.

His mom sipped leisurely from her cup, setting it down deliberately and delicately. Sitting back in her chair, she looked up at Zayn. 

“I won’t be supporting you going and shirking your responsibilities. I thought I told you to focus. I thought I made it clear that your free time is to be used to get your grades back up. You’ve barely made it through your junior year, and that certainly won’t be what good colleges are looking for,” she scolded, fixing Zayn with an icy stare. 

Grabbing her donut, magazine, and coffee, she left to her room, mumbling under her breath, “Hopeless, completely hopeless.” 

  
  


\---

  
  


Getting to school by bike was not Zayn’s first choice. But since he had no driver’s license and no parent who was willing to drive him anywhere, it was the only option. 

When he arrived, he was breathless, heart beating so fast he felt he might pass out. The wind had been cold blowing against him, even with the jacket and two layers he was wearing on top. He felt he might topple over from the weight of his backpack that carried his art supplies, weak from lack of sleep, of food, of peace. 

It was five o’clock, an hour before the show, but Zayn wanted to be in the theatre before anyone else. He wanted to soak in his environment, the serenity of it, before it was packed with people and noise. Hopefully, that would be enough to calm the nerves that wouldn’t stop twisting his stomach up so tight he felt he might throw up. 

Entering through the back doors of the school, he climbed the stairs that led to the backstage door, heaving them open. The moment he reached the top, he all but collapsed onto the ground, limbs so weak and heart beating so hard he could feel it banging against the wall of his chest. Wheezing, his cold hands gripped the hard linoleum underneath him in an attempt to ground himself as his vision became pure static and his lungs felt like they would collapse in on themselves. It took him a few minutes to recover, and he was careful getting up off the floor, not wanting to cause another wave of blind vision and dizziness so bad he swayed on his feet. 

I am clean, I am perfection, this is my reward, he reminded himself, continuing on his way.

The school was nice like this. No yelling or loud chattering, the hallways clear of a billion beady eyes that he felt stared him down each school day. Surprisingly, he could even hear his own breath, hear the scuffle and squeak of his combat boots along the old linoleum floors. 

When he reached the curtains that shielded him from auditorium he heard the sound of guitar strings being strummed on floating through the still air. Dropping his bag, he walked forward, silently, to reveal Niall sitting comfortably on the edge of the stage. His shock of bleached hair styled up into his signature quiff glowed white under the dim lights that shone over the stage. 

Frozen with indecision whether to leave or stay, his mouth dropped open when the guitar playing abruptly stopped, and Niall’s head lifted to stare out into the auditorium before his voice broke the silence. 

“I know you’re there, Zayn.”

If he had been moving at all, Zayn would’ve tripped over himself. He felt like he’d been watching a moment too intimate and private for his own eyes. Niall with himself and the melodies he could strum out on his most beloved wooden instrument was a mystical thing. Zayn felt the magic of it each time Niall played while he used to hang out at his house. They used to sing together, sometimes, something Zayn missed more than he realized until he walked in on Niall in his own musical world just then. 

“How come you heard me?”

“I was your best friend for years. Your ghost-like ability to creep up on people doesn’t work on me.”

It was silent again, Zayn’s breathing too loud. 

He had never hated awkward silences more than when they happened with Niall, who he’d never thought he’d feel out of place with. 

When Niall got no reaction or reply from the other boy, he returned to plucking out some chords, revealing the side of his face to Zayn.

Hesitantly, he walked over, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor. Niall kept plucking as he sat down next to him, and he wondered why suddenly everyone seemed to be ignoring his presence. He’d wanted everyone to act like he didn’t exist anymore but, now that it was happening, he wished he could reverse what he’d done to cause the people he wanted the most attention from to keep their eyes trained anywhere but on him. 

“What’re you doing here so early?” Niall asked, no accusation in his tone. 

Zayn shrugged beside him, kicking his heels against the side of the stage. “Just wanted to get a feel for the space.”

For a second, Niall’s eyes flicked to him, the smallest of smiles on his face, before they were right back to watching his fingers dance on the neck of his guitar. 

“What?” Zayn asked, feeling insecure. 

“Nothing. It’s just such a. . .a ‘you’ thing to do.”

Helooked down at his hands, shaking slightly from the cold air in the auditorium. “So, why are you here so early?”

“Me, Louis, Harry, and a few volunteers we roped in are coming in a few minutes to start setting up. I decided I’d enjoy the peace and quiet before Tornado Louis gets here.”

That startled a laugh out of Zayn, and he covered his mouth as he tried to reign in the volume of it. 

“Haven’t heard that laugh in awhile,” Niall observed, leaning back and taking in Zayn’s slouched form. 

“Bet you’re happy about that,” Zayn said to his hands, not meeting Niall’s gaze. 

“Why would you say something like that? I’ve missed everything about you. Missed everything about having you as a friend. I envy Liam,” Niall confessed, voice quieting with it. 

Shocked by the words, Zayn turned to him, eyes wide. 

“What? I do. I don’t know how he managed to get into your bubble that you chose to kick me out of, but I’m jealous of him for reaching you when I can’t. I only seem to be getting farther and farther away from ever being able to be your best friend again. I fuck it up worse every time I try.”

The dejected look on Niall’s face broke something in Zayn. 

“You look more tired and frail every time I see you, Zayn. I just want to help. I don’t know how, but, fuck, I would do anything I could to get you to realize that you don’t need to starve yourself. You--please, I--I don’t wanna lose you in that way, too. I could live with you living your own life and not being my friend, but I absolutely could not go on if you died from being so unhappy that you starved until your body couldn’t take it anymore. I--I couldn’t, Zayn. Please don’t do that,” Niall begged. 

This wasn’t something he had been prepared to face today, or really, ever. Niall was desperate, he could see it in his eyes. The boy was generally jovial, taking things in stride. To see him so unlike himself, looking so hopeless as he clutched his guitar to his chest, made Zayn look at whatever it was that had him refusing food from another perspective. He truly didn’t think it would affect others so much. He didn’t think it would be enough of a concern to have an effect on someone who he wasn’t close with anymore. 

If there was one thing he hated more than not being at the weight he wanted to be at, it was letting people down. Before Liam and Niall’s concerned inquiries, along with Mr. Higgins’, he’d never considered that controlling how much he ate would do the opposite of what he wanted it to. He thought it would drive people to desire him more, that by being skinny he would be better, but it had only caused him to drive everyone away, and his appearance had only caused people to worry about him, or look at him as if they had no clue what to do about him. 

Or to look at him with absolute desperation, the way Niall was staring at him, now. 

When Zayn didn’t reply, Niall set his guitar down, scooting closer to him. 

“I’m sorry about trying to force you to eat my sandwich. I realize that must’ve made you feel out of place. I know you don’t feel comfortable with having a lot of attention on you. I didn’t mean to ruin what coud’ve been a good lunch together or make you feel like a--a freak or something.”

Zayn looked into the sincerity of Niall’s blue eyes, a plea swirling in the wet glisten of them. 

“I don’t want you to treat me like I’m some nutcase who needs to be force-fed,” Zayn said, trying to work through the emotions that were surging through him, unsettling him. 

“I know, I know. I’m really, really sorry that I did that. I don’t know how to help you, though. But I want to, so if you could open up to me, and trust me that I want you in my life, then we can find a better way of helping you heal.”

Helping him heal? Helping him heal from what? Zayn had a handle on this. He didn’t need anyone’s help. He was doing a talent show for fuck’s sake, clearly he didn’t need help. Being underweight had done nothing to hinder him. It hadn’t. . .it hadn’t.

He didn’t like where the conversation was heading, and his whole body was surging with the adrenaline he needed to flee Niall’s presence. 

Noticing the twitching of his limbs, Niall grabbed onto him. 

“Don’t. Please don’t. Just stay. Please. Just be my friend, that’s all I ask.” His voice was wavering. 

If Niall stopped with the intrusive questions, he could be his friend. He could do that.

“I can do that,” he surrendered, shoulders dropping, feeling exhausted from the conversation.

He let Niall hug him, but he felt far away, not present in the body Niall was holding close to himself. 

“I’ve missed you so fucking much. So, so fucking much,” Niall croaked, sniffing into Zayn’s shoulder. 

In that moment, Zayn knew he should’ve felt relief. He should’ve felt like he was returning home. Instead, all he felt was empty. Empty, but clean. Shiny, new, clean, perfect, pure, right. And if Niall threatened to take that feeling away from him, tried to force food down his throat, he would reject him without remorse. 

No matter how much, deep, deep down he felt so weak he feared Niall might crush him under the weight of his affectionate squeeze, and his heart might just stop. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“That’s a lot of people,” Zayn heard Liam whisper next to him as they peeked through the crack of the heavy black curtains that were drawn to shield the stage from the audience that was gathering in the auditorium.

He could feel the nervous energy radiating off of him, causing the atmosphere to stiffen around them. He smelled fresh, a new cologne wafting up to Zayn’s nose and rendering him weak in the knees.

Looking for his parents in the sea of faces, holding a grudge against that little spark of hope that made his eyes sweep the audience, he reached for Liam’s hand, seeing that they didn’t come. Liam’s family, however, had made it. He spotted the lovely people he had gotten to know, flipping through the pamphlets that listed each performer’s talent that they would be showcasing. They were all dressed up as if this was some actual important event. The supportive act of it made him smile.  

Surprisingly, Liam had barely paid him any attention, and he only let Zayn wrap his hand around his, instead of giving him the squeeze he normally did. Looking over at him, Zayn studied the scrunch in his brow, the pout of his lips that were set in a grim line. 

“You’re nervous,” he observed aloud. 

Liam swallowed hard, nodding as his eyes stayed glued to the audience.

Shoving aside his own nerves that were forming a knot in his stomach, Zayn reached out and turned Liam’s head to face him with a gentle hand on his cheek. 

“You have no reason to be, Li.”

Liam tugged at his shirt, looking down self-consciously. “I have every reason to be, actually.”

Zayn moved in, taking the opportunity to duck down so his lips met Liam’s and pressed forward, effective in getting Liam to lift his head as he chased Zayn’s touch. 

Zayn always felt like he was getting the air he needed when he was smothered by his lips, which made would’ve made no sense to anyone else, but it did to him. He hoped he could make Liam feel the same way, hoped he could transfer all his pride and support he felt towards his boy through the kiss. 

Liam’s hand tightened on his, surging forward into him, biting at his lip, before laving his tongue over it to soothe the sting. 

Startled by the force of Liam’s ferocity, Zayn pulled away, a bit breathless. 

He saw the utter fear in his eyes before Liam was fisting his shirt in his free hand, and burying his head in the crook of Zayn’s neck. 

“What if they laugh at me? There’s kids from our school here, too, you know, Not just parents and siblings of the performers. What if everyone sees what I look like under this shirt and realizes they can bully me, too--”

“Hey,” Zayn stopped his breathless rambling before it got any worse, wrapping his arms around him, feeling like Liam was trying to shrink into him. “None of that is going to happen. I promise you. Everyone’s going to be so focused on what I’m painting they won’t get a chance to scrutinize you.”

Liam shook his head against Zayn’s neck as if he didn’t believe it.

“If anything the audience is lucky to witness you with your shirt off.”

At that, Liam scoffed stepping back to look at him with such an incredulous look Zayn might’ve found it funny had the conversation not been so serious. 

“Don’t give me that look, Li. I know what I’m saying, and I know what I saw when I painted you.”

“And what did you see?” Liam asked, shyly, voice small as he played with the hem of Zayn’s shirt. 

The question was a sign of him coming out of his shell, putting his trust in Zayn’s words, needing affirmation. Zayn had never felt so trusted in his life. 

“I saw someone so beautiful that he’s deserving only of being painted with kisses and pictures just as gorgeous as him,” he assured him.

Liam was still fidgeting with the fabric of Zayn’s button-down, but a small smile was tugging at the corners of his lips. When he met his gaze, his eyes were shining. 

“You’re cheesy,” he teased, cheeks red under the dim lights of the stage that had not yet been revealed. 

“Only ‘cause I love you.”

The words slid from Zayn’s mouth before he knew what he was saying, so intent on capturing every sparkle that glittered in Liam’s eyes that his mouth was on autopilot. 

When Liam’s eyes widened and his perfect lips parted with a stuttered breath, he couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry. 

Especially not when Liam seemed to forget all about the audience awaiting the performance they would put on later in favor of tugging Zayn forward and giving him a kiss that was both scorching enough to burn down the knots in Zayn’s stomach and gentle enough to make his skin break out in goosebumps.

  
  


\---

  
  


When the show began, Zayn tried to lose himself in the wonder of it all rather than focus on the fact he was clenching his teeth so hard from nerves that he felt his jaw might break. 

Louis was the announcer, of course, putting on a deep voice that boomed out over the microphone. Welcoming the audience, he thanked them for coming, introducing each performer, and making their exit memorable by adding a witty comment that made the audience laugh, at no cost to the performer. He knew how to work a room without being cruel or taking the joke too far, and both his peers and the audience tonight loved him all the more for it. 

Harry’s talent was telling jokes, and Zayn couldn’t help but laugh as the boy got the audience to interact with him. The jokes were terrible, most of them extremely lame puns that he was pretty sure Harry had tried out on him last year when he’d gotten a book of puns that he read for entertainment when he got bored at lunch. There was a mixture of groaning and chuckling that echoed through the audience after each one, but it was all in good fun, and Harry was bouncing on his feet, practically glowing, by the end of it, mischievous grin glued to his face. 

“Give it up for the lovely, cheeky Harry Styles,” Louis yelled into his mic, walking back onto the stage. He stopped Harry in his exit, squeezing his flushed cheeks and proceeding to slap him on the butt as he let him walk away, Harry’s grin only getting wider as he passed Zayn and Liam backstage. 

“That was my boyfriend, he deserves a better round of applause than that!” Louis scolded, and the audience laughed, following in clapping louder. 

Zayn rolled his eyes at Liam, getting a snort and a laugh in exchange. 

“Our next performer is Niall Horan who will be covering the song ‘How To Save A Life’ by The Fray,” Louis announced, leaving to go to the opposite side of the stage that all the performers were on. Across the stage, Zayn could see that Harry had snuck off backstage to circle around so he could stand next to Louis while they watched everyone perform. 

Passing him and Liam on his way out, with a nod to them, Niall’s serious gaze lingered on him before he made his way out from behind the backstage curtains.

The whole auditorium quieted as he set a stool for himself down in front of the microphone standing center-stage. 

Strumming the first few chords of the song, a wistful expression took over his face, eyes focused on playing out the right chords. 

Zayn’s body felt weighed down by nostalgia, a mourning for the past, as he remembered how many times he and Niall had sat on his bed, singing that same song together.

“You alright?” Liam asked, hand rubbing along Zayn’s spine, up and down. 

Zayn nodded his head, wordlessly, watching as his old friend looked over at him from center-stage, singing the chorus to him. 

Zayn knew he was trying to make a point. The song was a plea, a confession: ‘I don’t want to lose you’, ‘I don’t know how to help you’.

Liam’s steady hand rubbing over the knobs of his spine, smoothing the black button down he was wearing offered him some comfort. At least, it did until Zayn looked at Liam and saw how his eyes were getting misty. 

It was almost too much--knowing he’d caused two people he loved with all his heart so much pain. He couldn’t believe that what he thought would make others happier with him, look at him more approvingly, was the thing that was making everyone so sad. 

He wished he could say he hadn’t aimed for looking sick, for concerning people, but he had. Only now that it was actually happening, he hated the feeling, hated the turmoil he was causing people to go through who should only be happy and free of the bullshit he’d brought upon himself. 

Niall’s strong voice filled the auditorium and Zayn’s body until he felt like his nerves were humming along with the melody being strummed out on his guitar, along with the rich rasp of Niall’s voice. A few times, his voice cracked, but he carried on so effortlessly that Zayn thought it sounded like he meant to do it, had he not known how flawlessly Niall could play in the comfort of his home. 

When the song ended, Niall left the stage with a somber ‘thank you’, his quiet exit contrasting with the wildly clapping audience. 

“That was really great, Niall, my bestie. Not to be biased, or anything, but that was outstanding.” For the first time that night, Louis had dropped his fake announcer voice. Despite the teasing words, his own temperament was more serious, exchanging a few words with Niall before he walked off-stage, his eyes catching Zayn’s as he spoke into Niall’s ear. 

Zayn squirmed in place, not knowing how to feel about the exchange or the eye contact. 

“Next up we have duo Zayn Malik and Liam Payne! They’ll be doing a speed body painting. Zayn will be attempting to complete a painting in ten minutes with Liam acting as his canvas. As a disclaimer--yes, this was approved by the school, so don’t be shocked when you see a pair of male presenting nipples,” Louis joked. 

Zayn didn’t register that Liam had asked him if he felt ready until he realized a beat too late that Louis had announced them, and they should already be out on-stage. 

He took a deep breath, palms already wet and clammy, and walked onto the stage, carrying his paint supplies. Liam sat center-stage on the stool he brought with, and Zayn set up his paints and brushes, Louis helping by lugging out a huge timer that faced the audience and was far enough back that Zayn could keep track of his time. 

Hearing Liam’s noisy breath from above him as he crouched on the floor of the stage, Zayn paused his paint set-up to wrap a hand around the other boy’s ankle for a brief time as a sign of support, knowing he was taking his shirt off.   

Someone from the audience, what sounded like a male, shouted a high-pitched ‘ow-ow’, and cackling followed. “Yeah, strip!” came the far off cry, this time from a female. 

“Excuse you, audience feedback is not allowed, and if you continue to disrupt the show you will be escorted out,” Louis snapped over the loud-speakers. 

Zayn’s head had snapped in the direction of where the yelling had come from, just barely being able to see where a group of the school’s resident assholes were doubling over and laughing, mean-spirited and cruel. Turning away from glaring at them, he looked up at Liam from where he was crouched. 

“You okay?”

Liam looked pale as a ghost under the harsh theatre lights, gripping the seat of the stool. Zayn could see how he was sucking in his stomach, his lungs expanding and deflating with short breaths. He only gave a nod, jaw clenching and schooling his face into one of determination. 

“Your time starts now!” Louis warned, pressing the button for the timer. 

The theater filled with the soft sounds of a song sang in Urdu that Zayn had given, beforehand, to the kid who worked the sound tech part of the talent show, the melodic voice calming him as he began to paint on Liam. 

Opting to go for something a bit more challenging than the sun he’d painted on Liam before, Zayn was going to paint chevrons the colors of the rainbow, all fading from the darkest shade to the lightest before he started the next line of chevrons that were the next color in the rainbow. He started at Liam’s waistband, and progressed as quick as he could, making the task even more difficult by painting from Liam’s wrists up to his neck as well. 

Based on how nervous he was before, how big of a crowd was watching them, he thought he wouldn’t be able to focus like normal, thought his hands would shake so much he wouldn’t be able to hold the brush. But the song playing over the speakers made him lose himself in his art, only remembering to pause his painting so he could check the timer and check on how Liam was doing, only to find him staring down at where his hands were swirling the brush over his pebbled skin. 

It was frantic work, nothing like his normal process where he took hours to draw or paint something to make it perfect. He mixed the colors with precision, having done it so many times before that his body acted on instinct. Liam whispered encouraging words to him, but he barely heard him, too concentrated on not dropping his brush or palette, shaping the chevrons perfectly so they fit into one another in rows going up Liam’s arms and torso. 

It was painstaking work, and halfway through he felt like dropping everything in favor of laying down. Everything felt too heavy to move--his fingers, his hands, his arms. Giving himself an internal pep talk, he willed himself to push through, thinking about how he could sit on a chair backstage afterwards as long as he could get through this. 

He could feel the heavy, slow thuds of his heart, slow enough that Zayn recognized it to be abnormal, and he felt fear creeping in. 

As he was putting the finishing touches on the last chevron, the timer went off and Louis ran out to stop it. 

“And your time is up! Liam, why don’t you get up and show the audience the masterpiece Zayn has painted.” 

So, Zayn got up, only now that he was done with the painting, realizing how sore his knees had become from crouching on the hard floor of the stage. Moving aside as Liam got off the stool to show the audience his handiwork, Zayn extended his arms to him, happy to give him the spotlight. 

The crowd clapped, and Zayn heard whistling coming from where the Paynes were sitting. Both him and Liam exchanged a laugh, and Zayn felt himself soaring on the exhilarating feeling of accomplishing something he’d never tried before, all in front of an audience, and with one of the best people he could ever dream of meeting. The only thing that could compare would be getting off of his feet, his whole body screaming in protest at being kept upright.

Taking Liam’s hand, he led him in a bow, looking at how he was practically shining with happiness. He could feel the relief coming off of Liam in waves, but he couldn’t relate to it. The boy turned to him, giving him a private, soft grin. His eyes were filled with so much love, Zayn didn’t even need him to say those three words back to him. That one look was enough. 

After a few moments of soaking in the glory, Louis said something that broke them out of their bubble, Zayn still too distracted by Liam to know what. Regardless, he rushed to gather his things and escape the watchful eyes of the audience. Some of the wonder and awe of it all was wearing off and, without the music playing, Zayn felt more exposed by the second. 

“You did it, babe, you finished before the timer!” Liam exclaimed, keeping his voice low enough to not disrupt the next performance. 

He was bouncing on his toes, reaching out to give him a giddy hug. Quickly, Zayn held up his hand, stopping him in his tracks. 

“As much as I’d love to have you hug me shirtless, you’re going to get paint all over me if you do,” Zayn laughed. 

Looking down, Liam chuckled before he looked at Zayn again, shrugging. “Forgot I still had wet paint on.”

“We should hang a sign on you,” Zayn replied, taking his hand and kissing over his knuckles. He gazed into his eyes, taking in his adorable grin and crinkled eyes. “Couldn’t have done this without you.” 

Liam quieted, moving closer to Zayn, as much as his paint-covered torso would allow. “I wouldn’t have the courage to go out there shirtless, had I not known how difficult this was for you, too. You inspire me.”

Zayn didn’t have words in that moment, choosing instead to slide his hand over Liam’s short, bristly hair, pulling him closer by the back of his neck so they could lock lips. 

The remaining tension he’d been feeling from their performance melted off of him like thawing ice, his shoulders slowly dropping, his muscles relaxing. It seemed Liam was experiencing something similar based on the heavy sigh that escaped through his nose. The kiss was tender, unhurried, and he savored the way Liam licked into his mouth before retreating, movements languid. 

The kiss could’ve lasted for hours. At least, Zayn wouldn’t have minded if it would have, but Liam pulled away, and Zayn took the opportunity to rub his thumb over his slick and swollen bottom lip, wiping through the spit and tugging downwards. He revelled in the shaky breath that stuttered through Liam’s open mouth.

“I wanna take you on a date,” Liam whispered. 

Taken aback, Zayn cocked his head. 

“We haven’t gone on one yet,” Liam said, rubbing his nose against Zayn’s. 

“Well, no. But we’re not really official or, like, exclusive, so. . .” Zayn trailed off.

“Do you want to be? I mean, would you like to be my boyfriend?” Liam asked, chest stilling as he held his breath, the line of his shoulders tensing.

Zayn tickled Liam under his chin. “Well, I already told you I love you, so I’d be kind of insane to say no to that,” he teased. 

In reply, he got a bone-crushing hug,  and he couldn’t even find it in himself to mind the wet paint that smeared all over his dress shirt. 

The rainbow of colors blended into one another, and when Zayn looked into one of the dressing room mirrors, Liam apologizing profusely, he vowed silently that he’d never wash the shirt, hating the thought of the colors fading away. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Food was everywhere--it was in the air that wafted through the kitchen doors, on the plates the waiters and waitresses were setting in front of the patrons in the old fashioned diner, it was pictured in the menus that had been taken from the group of boys that Zayn had somehow allowed himself to be roped into joining for an after talent show celebration.

The panel of judges, who were made of three of the teachers from the school, had called it a close call between everyone who performed, but there had to be a winner. That winner was Niall, and no one had cheered louder than Louis who had forgotten to pull the microphone away from his mouth after pulling the little card out of the envelope that the teachers had given him after all the performances were finished. 

Zayn gave his best cheer, even though making the noise felt terrible, like he was using every ounce of energy he had left. He had sat on the floor backstage, watching as Niall walked out to receive his award, standing not being an option any longer. 

The second and third places had been given to a couple of teens that he didn’t care to cheer for, and he couldn’t find it in himself to even be disappointed that he and Liam hadn’t placed. Most likely, that would’ve been the normal reaction, based on how the other kids looked not hearing their name being called. But it had been a long time since he had felt normal and even longer since he didn’t feel exhausted. Or hungry. 

That’s how he found himself giving in to the chicken strips and fries that were set before him as everyone else’s food arrived along with it. He didn’t have the energy to count his bites or play with his food or estimate how many tablespoons there were of ketchup that he’d just squirted onto his plate so he could try to round up the calories of his meal later. 

The Hand was clawing, scraping, tearing into his brain and ripping through his intestines, angry with him for becoming a failure, for being so weak he gave into the one thing he vowed to resist. 

Zayn was so focused on eating his food, so distracted by the sound of his insides being torn and his intestines being destroyed as he stuffed food into his mouth quicker than he’d ever done before, that he hadn’t heard any of the conversation that was exchanged throughout the whole dinner, nor did he notice the concerned gaze that a pair of unwavering brown eyes were fixing him with.

At one point, he congratulated Niall on winning, telling him he deserved it. Absentmindedly, he heard Niall tell him he was proud of him, too. Zayn tried not to be an asshole, but all he cared about at that moment was consuming more and more food. Conversing with friends was far from his mind. 

Being driven home by Liam was strange, because Zayn, for once, didn’t want to talk to him. He’d witnessed him losing control, and there was nothing worse than that feeling. 

“I’m sorry your parents didn’t come,” Liam said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them since they got into the car. 

Zayn grunted in response, shifting uncomfortably, feeling the stone-heavy weight of the food he’d consumed grazing along the bottom of his stomach as it moved inside of him. 

“My parents said that watching you paint all of that was incredible. I agree with them. It was amazing what you did out there,” Liam persisted. 

Zayn didn’t even offer a shrug in response. 

Startling at the hand that laid over his knee, he turned to Liam. It was then he noticed the parking lot of his apartment, and he wondered how he’d missed that Liam had already parked his car. 

“Hey,” Liam whispered, squeezing Zayn’s knee. The yellow outside lights cast a warm glow over the side of his face. Zayn thought if he touched him right now, his fingertips might come back with a dusting of gold on them. “I’m worried about you, Z. I’m really fucking worried. It scares me watching you zone out and then grip me for balance like you’ll fall or faint if you don’t.”

And--shit. Zayn hadn’t realized he’d been doing that until now. 

“You noticed that,” he asked, grimacing. 

“I notice everything you do, love. I notice your mood, and every day since you asked me if I wanted to do the talent show I’ve noticed it’s been getting worse. You looked far off today.”

Liam’s hand left Zayn’s knee in favor of placing his hand over his chest, palm flat against Zayn’s hoodie. 

“You feel far away.” 

Zayn hoped Liam couldn’t see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. 

“I get like that when I paint.”

“No, you--you didn’t even seem like you wanted to be there today. And it makes me upset, because I want you to have as much fun as everyone around you is having. Want you to be as enthused as you were about art when I first met you. You talk about it less and less, and I wish I could see that inspired passion on your face again when I first joined Art. I want you to feel invincible, Zayn. Like I know you are. Most importantly, I want you to feel loved enough that you don’t feel like you have to go through life alone. I want you here, want you present.” Liam accentuated the words with a gentle press to Zayn’s chest, right over his heart. 

“So do Niall and Louis and Harry. I hope you can feel comfortable enough to talk to me. I know what it’s like to feel like the only option is to let yourself fade into the background of things when you feel like you have no significance. But think about the art you made tonight that so many people were awed by, and think of what a dull place the world would be without your artists’ eye here to show people a new way of looking at things. A new way of feeling.”

Zayn’s mouth was ajar, watching as beautiful after beautiful word spilled from Liam’s mouth. He was right in that people were impressed by his skills, having several people after the show stop him and tell him so. But the world needing his art? That was far fetched. And Liam, along with his other former friends, wanting him? Too good to be true. 

“I love you,” Liam confessed, the words so quiet they got lost in the glow of the outside lights, in the darkness of the parked car. 

Even if Liam’s confession was a lie, Zayn would always reassure the precious boy he’d come to love with the only feeling he trusted. 

“I love you, too.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

That same night, once he was inside his apartment and in the safety of his bedroom, Zayn weighed himself, his stomach dropping, heart sinking as he watched the numbers go past one hundred and eight to one hundred and ten.

He stepped off, feeling so tired he ached. Collapsing on his bed, he reached for the small sketchpad that he kept on his nightstand, flipping through the pages until he found a clean sheet. 

It had been so long since he sketched solely for himself. All of his art pieces were for his big project, and he didn’t take the same kind of joy in those that he did when he drew for himself. 

Come to think of it, he had gotten very little satisfaction from painting lately, most of it feeling like a chore he couldn’t wait to finish so he could lie down and scroll through pictures of skinny models and random people on his phone, a way to keep himself motivated and distracted from eating. 

Now though, he wanted to draw something that could take his mind off of the guilt he felt for eating and the painful bloating and gas. 

He turned off his thoughts as he began to sketch, fine lines of lead on sturdy sketch paper. Times when he felt like he did now, too tired to think of something that held a lot of value or meaning or detail, he let his hand lead him in the creating process. Either way, he knew there’d always be meaning to his art, whether it made sense to others or not. Sometimes, the simplest of his drawings turned out to be more complex than he thought the longer he studied it. 

Now though, when he studied what he’d drawn he frowned down at it. 

It was a simple half skeleton and half human, arms raised. The was just a smiling skull for the head, the rest of the body emaciated with crude lines drawn to show how the bones stuck out from the skin. Flipping through the pages of his sketchpad, Zayn’s frown grew deeper, brushing his fingers over his detailed artwork from before, remembering what mental state he was in for each of them, remembering what it felt like to release the image from his mind and have it become something visual and physical. 

Compared to his previous drawings, this one was a pitiful thing, and Zayn felt something in him beginning to crumble. This skeleton person had no detail, whereas all the other drawings were so realistic. He’d added shading and emotion, the faces he’d drawn clearly conveying what he felt. The flowers he sometimes liked to draw and the superhero comics he liked copying looked so realistic, even  _ he _ had been impressed with himself after drawing some of those. 

A sudden wave of fury crashed like a hurricane through him, breathless from it as he scoffed at the terrible drawing. He hated that that was what his mind had come up with. That now, all he could draw was skeletons, and terribly drawn ones at that. It made sense. His life revolved around not eating, revolved around looking as close to a skeleton as possible without actually becoming one.

Throwing down the pad, he glared at the scale sitting on the floor, walking over to it and standing on it again, the same number as before showing up. 

He’d lived and died on this fucking thing ever since it became a daily habit. He hated the cold feel of it on his feet, hated worrying about whether his belt was adding weight or not, hated all of the times he’d held his breath as his weight was calculated. He hated the sight of the thing, hated that he spent a good twenty-five dollars on it. 

Coursing through his veins, now, was pure rage, and he saw red as he searched for his dad’s toolbox. His parents were out--not that they warned him. He knew their habits and routines, had them memorized. 

His dad worked long hours, sometimes overnight, picking up shifts even when he was overdue for sleep and a break. Either that or he was at the gym, ‘burning off steam’ as he put it, with his lame-ass friend Ben. Zayn thought they both acted like overgrown children. 

His mom always found some weird, new age thing to do when she wasn’t working, always talking about learning more natural ways to center herself. When that didn’t work, and she was tired of pretending to be healthy in anyway, she went to the bar. 

Zayn knew the truth was that his parents found strange hobbies so they could avoid each other and the ever present sense that they could never escape monthly bills that cost more than their pays combined--and so they could avoid him and the acknowledgment that he existed. 

That knowledge spurred him on as he found the toolbox, racing back to his room with the anger of a child neglected and the emotional overload of someone who had denied themselves of the proper nurture and nutrition, loneliness and the desire to be loved eating away at the thin layer of sanity that kept his whole being from falling into chaos and out of line with the rules that he’d set up for himself to follow. 

Dizzy from all the rapid moving, Zayn located his scale through blurry, colorful vision, and he swung the hammer down without preamble. 

The satisfying crack that followed echoed through his ears, his head, resonating with whatever was cracking inside him along with each harsh blow to that stupid object that had come to rule his life. Minutes, maybe hours passed, it felt as long as years and as quick as a second, the eternity he spent unleashing all of his anger onto his scale, feeling fire lick over his limbs and climb up into the crevices of his lungs as he hyperventilated, ice thawing, his muscles moving freely as he kept swinging the blunt hammer head down. 

Once he felt the adrenaline seep from his pores, he straightened, swaying in place and panting. 

Suddenly, it seemed so insignificant, so stupid. This flat piece of technology spitting numbers at him as if Zayn,  _ himself, _ was an inanimate object, no better than a product being weighed in a factory before being packaged and shipped out into the world to be used by real, living, breathing human beings. 

Suddenly, he couldn’t stop laughing. He was mad with it. His brittle bones shook with the sound, his stomach quivered, and his nose flared, pulling in breaths, because he was  _ alive. _ He was  _ alive.  _

His hands, his nimble fingers that clutched the handle of the hammer trembled, thrummed with the sensation of it. He had painted masterpieces with his fingers, had guided charcoal, and brushes, and sometimes clay between them to form pictures or objects that made even  _ him _ gasp. They had done that before he’d lost the weight, and now they were hindered by the loss, finding it more difficult to follow through with each swipe of paint over paper, each lead line becoming more unsteady and unsure.

Before he lost the weight, he’d still been given compliments. Because when it came to art, people cared not how you looked, they cared how the inside of your mind looked. Cared about what colors and shapes would materialize on paper after you spilled your brain and all of the matter inside of your head. 

If Zayn couldn’t give others that, couldn’t give  _ himself _ that, if his heart stopped pumping blood into his brain until he could no longer keep spilling the contents onto canvases, then what was the point?

What was the point?

Dropping the hammer, he ran to grab his phone, calling Liam, not knowing what he was going to say, but needing to let out whatever cocktail of emotions he was feeling right now to someone. 

“I smashed it! I smashed it! It’s fucking broken!” He shouted as soon as he heard Liam begin to greet him. He didn’t know if what he heard in his own voice was excitement, panic, anger, or happiness, but all of them seemed to make an appearance in his tone. 

“What’d you smash? Zayn, what’re you talking about? Is everything okay?” Liam’s bewildered voice came through the phone, his voice thick with sleep. 

“I’m--I’m--” Zayn stuttered, whirling around, not finding words, because what was he?

He wasn’t okay.  _ Nothing _ was okay. But this felt good,  _ speaking _ felt good. Screaming would feel even better. He was tempted to test out his theory. 

In that moment, Zayn recalled the reassuring words Liam had spoken to him earlier that night, and they sounded right this time around. As they rang through his head, they sounded true. 

“I smashed the fucking scale, I smashed it, and I’m not okay, but I feel fucking amazing. And I love you,” Zayn gasped, sobs tearing through his body, not caring how much of a lunatic he sounded like, because even  _ that _ felt good.  

Anything, but the horror of having an invisible hand that existed in his mind, squeezing him until his body shrank and deteriorated to what it had become now, felt good. 

Zayn wanted more of it. 

More loss of control, more hysteria, more anger, more adrenaline. More of anything that wasn’t The Hand, the mindset he’d become a slave to.   

Liam simply told him he’d be right over.

As they lay in the darkness of his room, Zayn spent the majority of the night sobbing into his hoodie, his cries muffled as they heard his parents get home at different times, his crying only quieting when people started making their way into work, driving past the apartment again, and the first bird had begun singing. 

Liam held him the whole night through. 

  
  


\---

  
  
  


Confessing to what had triggered Zayn’s call to Liam was a lot harder to do when the rage and adrenaline had been drained from his body, eyes itchy when they opened the next morning to the sight of Liam staring at him, fingers brushing through his hair. 

Through all the gory details--the explanation of why Niall and him had argued at lunch that one day, the reason for why he had ignored Liam’s texts and acted so skittish with him at times, the cause for the shattered scale that still lay on the floor in the room--Liam was a silent listener, lips closed, and eyes wide open as he let Zayn stutter and sigh and groan his way through thawing from his perpetual frozen state of fear. 

At the end of it, he simply pulled him in again, and Zayn was happy that he knew when he needed words and when actions would do more for his broken state of health. Liam’s warmth and complete acceptance--his love--was enough to warm him from the inside out, despite the goosebumps that spread over his skin periodically, body temperature too low. 

“Can I see it?” came Liam’s hesitant voice, muffled by Zayn’s sweater. 

Pulling away from his embrace, Zayn sat up in bed, looking down at him. “You want--you want to see the picture I drew last night?”

Liam nodded. “Only if you want to show me, of course.”

For a moment, Zayn thought about it. Letting Liam in that much, letting him see a drawing that had been done in such a vulnerable moment would be taking a big step in trusting him. 

“Okay,” he whispered, voice thin. 

Slowly, he retrieved his sketchpad from beside his bed, turning the pages to where the skeleton drawing was, handing it to Liam. He studied it, holding the sketchpad up with his large, but gentle, hands, gingerly tracing over the delicate lines. 

“You can look through the rest of it, if you want,” Zayn said, breaking the silence. 

Liam craned his neck to look over at him, eyes wide and lashes fluttering as he looked at Zayn, pink lips that were puffy from sleep hanging open. 

Nodding his head towards the pad, he snuggled closer to Liam, but stayed far enough away that he could see his reactions. 

Looking away, a tiny ‘wow’ escaped his lips, hands shaking as he began turning the pages to look through the rest of Zayn’s coveted and private drawings. His face was in a permanent state of awe, eyes unblinking as he looked at the pictures, as if he was worried that if he looked away for one second the moment would dissolve around him and he’d no longer have the honor to look through the pictures. 

Upon turning another page, he gasped at the picture before him. It was a drawing of Batman that looked an awful lot like him, dressed in a skintight suit, holding a Batman mask in his hand. The picture was unfinished, but the amount of detail in the face left no other option except for it to be a character that was drawn with Liam in mind.

“I’ve been meaning to finish that one, but just like all the other ones lately, I can’t seem to find the energy. That one’s my favorite in awhile, though,” Zayn explained, not taking his eyes off of Liam.

His finger traced over the date scribbled on the paper. “You drew this only days after meeting me?”

“Didn’t take me long to be interested in you. To be fair, you’re pretty hard to ignore, and you’re way too pretty to not draw.”

“Pretty, huh?”

“Pretty and strong,” Zayn murmured, finger tracing Liam’s lips. 

Liam put the sketchpad down in favor of pulling Zayn’s hand away so he could kiss him, instead. Melting into it, he rubbed his hand over Liam’s growing buzzcut, cupping the back of his head, shifting his whole body to press into Liam’s, limbs tangled in the blanket. 

Liam pulled away, breathing over his lips, “Now that I’ve seen that you drew me, I can show you the extensive collection of drawings I did of you as different comic book characters and not feel weird about it.”

Zayn’s chuckle was muffled by Liam’s lips pressing back onto his. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Once Zayn felt ready to get out of bed, Liam led them to the kitchen. His parents were already at work, so there was no risk of running into them. Sitting him down in a chair at the kitchen table, Liam made them breakfast. He was considerate enough to ask him what he wanted, and, in that moment, Zayn wanted anything but the safe foods that he’d been eating for too long, all of them bland and lacking in taste. He settled on telling him he wanted something warm. Liam nodded, taking his job as Zayn’s personal chef seriously. Soon enough, a pile of homemade pancakes was placed in front of him, syrup set beside him, as well as a bowl of banana slices. 

“This would go great with peanut butter,” Zayn murmured, not thinking as he began cutting the pancakes into tiny bites, fingers on auto-pilot. 

Pausing mid-bite, Liam dropped his fork and rummaged through the cabinets before coming up with a bottle of Jif. 

“You’re in luck. I’m happy you mentioned it. I love peanut butter on my pancakes, too. It’s great protein,” Liam conversed, smoothing the creamy peanut butter over his golden pancake. 

Zayn’s mouth watered, brain screaming at him the amount of calories, how much fat he could gain. Peanut butter was one of the foods he avoided like the plague. 

“Have some,” Liam said, nonchalantly, shoving the jar over before he poured syrup over his plate, eyes trained on his food and not Zayn. 

Darting his eyes back and forth between his pancakes and the jar of peanut butter, Zayn  reached for the knife gingerly, his whole body thrumming with the urge to run away and the constant reminder that what he was doing was a crime. 

Pushing past the feeling, he spread the peanut butter over his soft pancakes, squirming in his seat as he added another layer and poured the sweet syrup on top, not letting himself stop. He wanted this, wanted the peaceful, quiet moments with Liam. He wanted to be able to tell him what a great cook he was and actually enjoy the food he made. So, he took a bite, the flavor of the peanut butter so good on his tongue, absolutely delectable. The pancakes were fluffy and warm, comforting. 

Just as he felt when he joined Liam’s family dinners, he felt safe, now, Liam giving him a soft smile, the morning rays of sunshine casting a golden-white glow on his face, turning the ends of his eyelashes white. 

“Is it good?”

Zayn nodded, swallowing. “I’m going to regret this later, you know?”

Liam took his hand that was resting on the table. “That’s how it always is at first. But you focus on the fact that you’re doing it. You’re eating, you’re taking care of yourself, no matter how uncomfortable that feels. That’s the first step. It’s also the hardest, and you’re getting through it so well.”

Squeezing his hand hard, Zayn took another bite, clinging to the positive words for dear life. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Alright, class, what I want you to do is place your pictures face-up on your tables, and walk around the room so you can examine everyone’s work. I want you to really take a look at the pictures, let whatever feelings you get from them sink in. I don’t want anyone talking in-depth about the art they’ve done this time, though I know that’s out of the ordinary for me. This time around, I want you all to simply focus on what that artist is making you feel through the abstract art they’ve made. Don’t question it, just feel and ponder. You’re an observer in someone else’s mind, don’t take that lightly,” Andi instructed from the front of the class.

Zayn had laid out his art already, the four pictures looking far too exposed with the lights in the classroom shining down on them.  _ He _ felt naked looking at them, resisting the urge to flip them over. 

The first picture that showed fear was a watercolor painting, a hardly detailed or filled out torso of a man with the head being a swirled mess of black paint. The second was his anatomical heart with the pitchfork prongs. 

The two pictures that showed what inspired him, what made him happy were ones he wished he’d done better. He supposed that’s what happened when he had prioritized not eating over doing what he loved best--completing and perfecting his art. One of the pictures was of Liam’s neck, his veins and muscles prominent as if he was straining, painted as Zayn had seen it on the night of the talent show when he’d refused to run off-stage when those popular kids had taunted him. Of course, he hadn’t forgotten to include his birthmark. The second was a close-up of Niall’s hand, blurred over the backdrop of his guitar. He wanted the movement to be shown in his painting, remembering to include the friendship bracelet that he’d noticed Niall was still wearing when they were talking before the talent show. It was the same bracelet he had made for him half a year into their friendship. 

“I want you to start by looking at the art made by the person seated to your right and then move to the next row and go to the left, and on from there,” Andi instructed. 

Everyone began moving to look at each other’s art, observing quietly as Andi played nature sounds from the speakers on her desk. As Liam stepped over to the right to check out his desk neighbor’s art, Zayn stepped over to observe Liam’s, satisfied he got to see his first before anyone else. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed to himself, supporting himself by leaning his palms on the surface of the table, taking in the art before him. 

The pictures that were to portray darkness and fear were stunning, Liam using a lot more charcoal than usual. The first picture was a dark school hallway, looking unkempt and like it hadn’t been walked through in decades, vines sprouting out through the linoleum tiles and climbing over the lockers. The lights had cobwebs on them, the bulbs burnt out. Zayn felt gross looking at it, scared of the shadowed places, the lockers that were open looked like they might be holding some dangerous creature that could jump out. He felt shivers run up and down his spine. Moving on to look at the second ‘fear’ picture, Zayn noticed how Liam made use of a location again, his specialty in drawing his surroundings and landscapes. This one was what looked to be a school’s locker room showers. Similar to the previous one, it had the look of what a school might be like if there was an apocalypse, the tiles grimy and what looked like black and green mold growing near the shower heads. There was a mirror drawn on the left side of the picture, red charcoale creating a large ‘X’ over it. 

Before moving on, Zayn had to pause to bring himself out of the heavy feeling he was weighed down with by looking at the pictures. 

He wasn’t prepared for the next picture he laid his eyes on. 

It was a view of him standing in front of all the candy in a candy store, arms outstretched. With painstaking detail, Liam had colored the candy that surrounded Zayn’s figure, the sheet of paper bursting with color, such a contrast to the other two pictures laid before it. 

A couple nights ago, when Zayn had been hanging out with Liam, he’d told him he was craving anything and everything sweet. 

“I know exactly what you need,” Liam had said, cryptically, driving them promptly to a little hole in the wall candy store. 

It was full to the brim of candy, chocolates, lollipops, cotton candy, and anything else Zayn could think of. 

“I’ll buy you anything you want. You deserve to have this, Zayn, this stuff is good to have, too. If your body is craving something, you give it what it needs. It knows you, you just have to listen to it,” he reassured his boyfriend, rubbing his arms as he stood behind him. 

Zayn didn’t know such excitement could fill his veins at being told he was allowed to eat, at being told it was okay, that it was  _ good _ even. There was no guilt or shame in anything Liam said. Even more than that, Zayn had been craving it so much it had distracted him from one of the drawings he had begun working on. 

Feeding himself meant quieting the restless movement of his limbs, and that meant that he could focus on the images in his brain that he wanted to put on paper. Food was fuel, as Liam had once said. 

In that moment, at the candy store, Zayn had lifted his arms to the shelves of candy, whispering, “I get to eat any of this. I can eat, I can  _ eat _ .” He’d been so exhilarated by the feeling, felt so invincible, that he’d barely registered the loving kiss Liam had pressed to his cheek. 

Liam had captured it--the awe, the beauty of the moment. Overwhelmed by seeing himself from his point of view, Zayn felt tears building in his eyes. He knew that eating, at times, was still something that Liam had to talk himself through. That sometimes it didn’t come as naturally as he made it look, that he was still recovering. Still, Zayn never thought that Liam could find inspiration in a moment that Zayn looked back on in embarrassment, thinking how he must’ve sounded like a lunatic. Now, though, the drawing challenged his previous thoughts on it. 

When he looked over to the next picture, he expected another drawing, but he was surprised to see Liam had tried his hand at acrylic. It was a painting of clouds, the dreamiest painting of clouds that Zayn had seen in awhile, and he wondered if his boyfriend had painted it from a memory of flying in the air with his dad. 

Either way, it filled him with hope, made him remember to breathe, to open up his lungs and inhale. 

Just like what meeting Liam had helped him to do. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“I’ll wait for you by the door,” Liam told him, later after class had been dismissed and the lunch bell rang. 

Zayn nodded, squeezing his hand. Taking a deep breath, he walked alone up to Andi’s desk, clearing his throat to get her attention as her back was turned to him. 

“Oh, hi, Zayn.”

“Hi, um, I have something I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“Sure thing! You know I’m always more than happy to speak with you. I’ve missed our chats about art,” Andi said, pulling a loose strand of pink hair out of her face. 

“This isn’t really about art, actually. . .”

Zayn looked over to where the door to the Art room was open, saw Niall join Liam, the two embracing each other, beginning a conversation. Liam said something to make the blond laugh, Zayn able to hear the bubbly noise from where he was standing. 

It had been constant ups and downs for him ever since he made that phone call to Liam, ever since he destroyed the scale. He’d had a whole breakdown over losing his scale, pulling at his hair as he cried, one night, not knowing how much he weighed. 

A constant switch was happening in his brain, his attitude about his diet changing like someone had been switching a light on and off. Every few days, the light was on and he felt alright eating. Still less than what he knew was recommended for him to eat, but he didn’t feel like crying during or after. Out of nowhere, though, he’d be plunged into darkness, reverting back to his old ways the next day, tracking every single calorie that entered his mouth or going back to fasting, stumbling around in the pitch black depths of his mind where all he could find was a hatred for what he’d done to himself by allowing himself to eat freely. 

Liam could only help so much, and though he offered to have his parents talk to Zayn’s about him going to a treatment center, putting Liam in the middle of it all felt wrong. 

Zayn wanted Liam’s only job to be his boyfriend. 

As he watched Niall make funny faces, animatedly talking about god knows what, Liam’s warm brown eyes squinting with a soft smile, he knew he had to talk to Andi, had to ask for help. Niall caught his eye, sending a brief wave over, goofy grin on his face. 

Silently, Zayn sent one back, excited to be on the road to patching things up with his best friend who he now was eating lunch with, along with his boyfriend, Louis, and Harry, and the rest of Niall’s crew.

On the good days, that is. On bad days, Liam and him ate in the privacy of Liam’s car, or sat on the school steps. Sometimes, they snuck into the backstage area of the theater. Liam came up with plenty of happy environments for them to eat in, wanting Zayn to associate eating with things that were good. 

“Oh? What is it about, then?” Andi asked, pulling him back out of his head. 

Her eyes studied him, patient and warm. 

Inhaling shakily through his nose, he swiped his sweating palms on his jeans, taking a moment to compose himself. His voice shook as it came out, his throat being encased by a familiar, evil Hand he’d once relied on, that he now paid no mind to, pushed through the discomfort instead of giving in to the pressure. 

“The truth is. . .I haven’t been too good, lately. Well, for awhile now, really. Andi, I need--I need help.”

“I’m glad you came to me, Zayn.”

Andi reached out her hand, clasping onto Zayn’s that was resting on her desk, the contact grounding him. 

He hadn’t disappeared, and he didn’t plan to anytime soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a real journey for me, writing this, and I'm a bit emotional now that it's over. I'm happy with how it turned out. I hope it was enjoyable to read. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and any kudos or comments left are greatly appreciated. I love hearing people's thoughts on my works. <3
> 
> If you liked the story, here's a [fic post](https://andtheywerebandmates.tumblr.com/post/187575578715/not-to-disappear) you can reblog. Come find me on [tumblr!](https://andtheywerebandmates.tumblr.com)


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